


tempo(ral)

by dakhtar



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awesome Jarvis (Iron Man movies), Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture, James "Rhodey" Rhodes & FRIDAY friendship, James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark Friendship, Jarvis (Iron Man movies) Lives, Loki (Marvel) Needs a Hug, Loki (Marvel) is a Good Bro, Memory Alteration, Not Steve Rogers Friendly, Not a Fix It for Civil War, Past Torture, Post-Hela Thor, Post-Siberia Scene in Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Sentient Infinity Stones (Marvel), Thor (Marvel) Needs a Hug, Thor (Marvel) is a Good Bro, Tony Stark & FRIDAY friendship, Unreliable Narrator, War Machine Rox, not team Cap friendly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:42:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 58,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24996313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dakhtar/pseuds/dakhtar
Summary: Tony Stark's last memory is of the sceptre touching his chest, the alien metal clinking delicately against the glass surface of his arc reactor, and Loki's triumphant face.His next memory is waking up in Siberia, bruised and confused, with FRIDAY apparently his AI and Rhodey -Rhodey!- in a wheelchair.(The sceptre does nothing. Except it does everything. Tony Stark's eyes turn blue, but only until he flies a nuke through a portal. And then--)
Relationships: Friday & Tony Stark, James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark, Jarvis (Iron Man movies) & Loki, Jarvis (Iron Man movies) & Tony Stark
Comments: 34
Kudos: 248
Collections: Iron Man Big Bang 2019/2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [[Art] tempo(ral)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24961435) by [Nonexistenz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nonexistenz/pseuds/Nonexistenz). 



> Hello! This is my entry for the Iron Man Big Bang! I'm not all _too_ happy with this fic, especially since it was supposed to be _way_ darker, but I think it might also be do to the fact that I've spent too long just staring at it as well. Hopefully you guys will tell me if it's any good, right? Right??
> 
> And my lucky butt had not one, but _two_ amazing artists for this bang! In no particular order, [feyrelay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/feyrelay/pseuds/feyrelay) who made this _super cool_ playlist for this fic which you can find [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2gGxVg5QxvzQ0nyTbHVbd7?si=i_xeFISsQR6eSHtoFnMWtQ)!
> 
> And then there's [nonexistenz](https://nonexistenz.tumblr.com) who drew this amazing [art](https://nonexistenz.tumblr.com/post/622679946832248832/drew-this-as-part-of-the-ironmanbigbang-201920%22) \- look at that beauty!!!! *screams* Also here on [AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24961435)!
> 
> I owe them both so many apologies, I've been the worst author for this bang. ;a;
> 
> most chapters beta'd by the amazing [@audaciousanonj](https://audaciousanonj.tumblr.com/)! I wrote the last three in one sitting on my posting date so they didn't have a chance to clean it up. s2g this bang's just been cursed for me ;a;

His last memory is of Loki’s face; the bruised, crazed mess of pale – _too pale,_ he realises too late – skin, and eyes a shade darker than his arc reactor. And then-

-nothing.

Just- _flashes_. Small soundbites and flashes of things – dark space, the sound of a shield zipping by, Pepper’s voice shouting his name, explosions, _Rhodey_ – things with no context, no meaning, nothing behind it to indicate anything, to _explain_.

There's a short moment where an emotion lingers, something like grief, drowning him in the darkness of his existence. It stays for a while before leaving as well, and Tony won't realise that that grief corresponds with the death of his longest companion, JARVIS until much later.

Truthfully, he won't realise _anything_ until _much_ later.

All he knows is that he- he doesn't really know anything. Loki taps his arc reactor, lips slanted like the cut of a sharp knife, and nothing happens, _nothing happens_ , until he blinks, ready to open his mouth and say something derogatory, only to suddenly realise that it's not Loki that's in front of him still, it’s… Natashalie. Romanoff. Romanova? The red headed agent that stabbed him in the neck as a greeting.

“Tony,” she says, and wow, is that? Is that _emotion_ in her voice? She must be a shit assassin to emote so much, right? Or she’s trying to manipulate him with tears this time rather than seduction. But why? Tony stares up at her (up?) and she just repeats his name, whispering it, sounding choked up and apologetic and _relieved_.

He frowns up at her, because wasn't she and the other band of Fury’s men almost half an hour out? Hadn't he been stalling Loki in his tower, waiting for his latest suit to be ready for deployment? How the hell was she here already? Where was Loki? Actually, on second thought, where was _he_?

Pushing himself upwards, Tony ignores the hand Romanoffva offers, eyes darting around to get his bearings. He immediately zeroes in on the sensation of his suit around him, the tight fit, the mobile articulations at the joints so fine to explain why he hadn't noticed it at first. But the suit of armour looks different – sleeker, more gold than red, lighter than a feather, almost. A quick hop to his feet proves that true, god he could _run_ in is! What the hell? When the hell had he created _this_? Was it JARVIS? Had to be; little brat always upgraded his stuff as a passive aggressive means of revenge for Tony never listening to him, leaving Tony to reverse-engineer it just to figure out how the hell he’d done it. But by science, _the results!_ Tony wants to fly and he wants to fly _now_!

“Tony,” Mother Russia says again, imploringly, “I know you're angry at me, I know what I did can't be forgiven, but-”

Tony holds up a hand, internally preening when she all but stutters to a stop. He doesn’t miss the way she stares up at him with wide, vulnerable eyes, still leaning on the icy ground (icy? What?) while he takes the time to admire the rest of his suit. The mobile movements of the wrist joint, the ease that he can bend his elbow even despite the visible damage, damn, JARVIS has done good this time. But why is Tony in a new suit anyway? Had Loki knocked him out clean? Had JARVIS extracted him out with a new suit? Makes sense.

But then the question is: where the hell is he and why is Ms. Putin here? In tears? Apologising?

“Either Loki won and we’re about to die a horrible death so you’re pre-emptively apologising for past wrongs, or…” Tony clicks his tongue in thought, “Yup, can’t think of anything else. How bad is it?”

Nata-shaft-you stares at him, almost looking bewildered if it weren’t for the fact that Tony _knows_ she has a soul darker than the pits of his unshaven arms, and thus incapable of emotion. Tony marvels at her acting ability though, because he’s a good guy like that, and realises he’s glad if all she did was stab him in the neck with a needle as opposed to stealing all his company’s secrets without even a fun tumble in the bed first. Wouldn’t be the first time.

“Tony,” Natashenkanoff tries, stiffly getting up to her feet. “I know I messed up, I know I shouldn’t have let them go, I know I should have listened to you,” she says, as if Tony has any idea what the hell she could be talking about, “But I swear to you I had _no idea_ they could do something like this, that they _would_ do something like this. God, Tony, I can’t believe they just- they just _left you_ here.”

Riiiiight.

Where the hell is _here_ anyway?

A quick glance around his surroundings shows nothing but ice. There’s a weird open pillar plan thing going on to his left, offering a glimpse of the outside world for anyone to see. Too bad even then all it shows is just, you guessed it, _ice_.

So some people left Tony behind in some snowy wasteland. Cool story. But what about _Loki?_

“Look,” Tony starts, quite fairly if he says so himself, “It must have been a hell of a celebration party, because I don’t remember anything in the absolute slightest. Did we at least beat the less pretty asgardian God? Or do I have to kickstart the Apocalypse Project I wrote up in my twenties?”

Did Russians normally have green eyes? Tony’s pretty sure the stereotype says they should have blue or, like, grey eyes, right? Natashanov has very green eyes, but then again, it feels like every red head Tony comes across has green eyes. Is that a thing, or is he being insensitive again? Eh, he’ll ask Rhodey, Rhodey’s good about the race and sensitivity thing.

Thankfully, Romatasha must decide to quit with the games, because her expression – previously open and vulnerable – suddenly closes off like dungeon doors thumping shut, and will you look at that, the _real_ assassin makes an appearance!

“This isn’t a game, Tony.” She says seriously, lips pulling back in a light display of her displeasure. “You know Loki’s dead. There wasn’t any celebration. Steve- _Rogers_ and Barnes escaped and went underground, I can find them…” A strange spasm crosses her face, is she okay? Can’t be comfortable to have strange face spasms at random times. “… If you want, that is. Either way, we have a quinjet ready for you outside, and you need medical. Let’s go back, and plan our next step from there.”

But Tony’s a few sentences back, stuck on the first bomb she’s just casually dropped on him. “ _Dead?_ ” He repeats incredulously, “What the hell do you mean he’s _dead_? Who thought it would be a good idea to _kill_ him? He was obviously just the appetizer! Why on earth would you kill the appetizer before even knowing what the main dinner is? And wait-” wait wait _wait_ “-Thor _let_ you kill his brother? Or did he take Crazy and have him executed by the space Vikings?”

But wait-

- _Rogers_ escaped? Escaped what, SHIELD? Good on him. Fury could go suck a dick.

He says as much, much to the slowly dawning horror on Natanator’s face, and begins looking around for where his helmet might be. He wants JARVIS, wants the cool familiar tenor of his voice and his dry sarcastic tone, wants him to summarise everything for him in twenty words or less.

“Tony...” Darth Vaderoff speaks up after minutes tick over. “Tony-” she sounds... scared? Tony turns to her, eyebrow cocked, unimpressed. “Tony do you- do you know who Ant-Man is?”

Ant... Man? Tony frowns, staring at the Russian in front of him. “I do,” he answers bluntly, coating his words with hard steel, “but I’m not telling you anything.”

He might hate Hank Pym with a burning passion for getting Aunt Jan killed, but he won’t rat him out. Not now that the old man is all but senile. Aunt Jan wouldn’t have wanted him to.

More importantly though, where the hell is his helmet? This place is called as shit. “JARVIS, where you at?”

Natashenkanoff _rears_ back at his question, expression twisting from initial relief at his answer to fear, confusion and worry at JARVIS’ mention. From her belt a comms unit crackles, static drowning out the voice that calls for her, “… Agent-bbzt Roma-bzzttt-fffffff-zzzzt,”

She snatches it off her belt, activating it and barking out orders about recon and damage control and other fancy words Tony doesn’t pay attention to. He’s too busy awkwardly moving about the desolate base (base?) in search of his helmet, realising his super cool super new armour has been _utterly destroyed_ somehow. And jeez, just what on earth did he do to screw J’s baby up this badly?

“Aha!” He cheers, finally finding the helmet upside down next to a scorched pillar. It’s dead, banged up six ways to Sunday, but pretty much still in good enough condition. Tony fiddles around with the inside, wondering if JARVIS decided to be a prick and put the manual reboot bit somewhere completely different just to fuck with Tony, but- there!

J’s the goddamn best.

The helmet glows on, eye slits powering up with the white-blue power of the arc reactor. Tony lets it leech off the armoured finger he presses up to the manual reboot slot, and then turns it around trying to figure out how the hell to actually get it on his head.

He gives up pretty quickly though when he realises that _this_ is where JARVIS’ has screwed with him, the little shit taking perverse pleasure in duping Tony when Tony absolutely does not expect it with the tiniest of things. Like moving all of Tony’s workshop tools just a couple of inches to the left. Or making it look like none of the sixteen-hour binge session had actually saved the night before and _freaking_ Tony the shit out.

Tony would be worried if he didn’t, in retrospect, find it hilarious.

“To- Stark,” says Russian Roulette, the harsh correction of his name quirking Tony’s eyebrow. “Quinjet’s waiting on you. We need to go and report in.”

Red Widow’s hair looks different. “Wasn’t your hair short? And bouncy? And a whole lot redder?”

Red Widow’s face does that spasm thing again. “Not for some time, Stark. Let’s go.”

Huh, okay. Tony thought women loved it when you noticed their hair, but _okay_ , apparently not _this_ woman.

 _Whatever_ , Tony thinks, rolling his eyes as he walks past the woman towards the direction she’d gestured the quinjet (the what?) was in. He can’t do diagnostic on his suit right now, not in the state it’s in, but the fact that the only function that works is the hydraulics pretty much means the suit’s juice is at zero. _Zero_. Whatever the hell Tony had been up to right before naturally saving the world from alien invasion must have been a _doozy_.

Hah. Doozy.

Rhodey’s going to be so _pissed_.

Mood lifting at the image of his friend being pissed at being late to the party, _again_ , Tony perks up when he sees the weird looking helicopter parked on the outskirts of what turns out to actually probably be a super secret base. The inside is super weird too, a lot more high tech than Tony knows for a fact helicopters are, and a goddamn wet dream to his fingers.

It _turns on_ by itself, everything humming to life as Arachnophobia slips in behind him, and suddenly the main console crackles to life, spitting static and frequencies until- “ _BOSS!_ ”

Tony startles, almost dropping his helmet as he jerks back instinctively.

“Boss!” The voice repeats, this time less suddenly, decibels far lower, frequency smoothing out into a feminine voice with an accented lilt. “Boss, I lost contact with you four hours and twenty-five minutes ago. Are you alright? What is your current status? I sent Agent Romanoff the coordinates of your last distress signal, I didn’t know what else to do-” A stuttered pause, then- “… Boss?”

Tony, lightly holding the helmet with the tips of his fingers, stares at the lit up console, at the empty pilot’s seat, aware of Romanophobia’s eyes drilling into him from behind. “… Yes?” And then, unable to help himself, “Do I know you?”

Silence.

And from behind him, low and deadly, Natasha Romanoff says, “FRIDAY. Take us to the Compound. We’ve got a situation.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gonna double-post (2 chapters) as for some reason chapter 1 & 2 are super short? Please tell me if there's any tags you think I should add on! And what you think!

She finds Tony Stark in an abandoned HYDRA bunker in Siberia, beat up and bloody and worrying still.

She finds Tony Stark in an abandoned HYDRA bunker in Siberia, four hours after FRIDAY loses contact with him, and an extra twenty-five minutes after FRIDAY breaks and sends Natasha a panicked distress signal and coordinates.

Four hours is a long time for something to happen.

Natasha doesn’t even want to think about _why_ he’d been left there to begin with, or _who_ had been the ones to _leave him there_.

 _No_ , she thinks darkly to herself, that way lies madness. (And cold, _cold_ , revenge.)

For now, she keeps an eye on Stark ( _not_ Tony, not now) as he fawns over the main console, exclaiming incredulously over FRIDAY’s existence. Something about her just being a baby file, a project, a few lines of codes and nothing more. FRIDAY’s stuttered into silence, occasionally answering in one-word responses, still uncomfortable when anyone but Stark is around, still carrying the burden of ULTRON’s short but devastating existence.

Natasha has a lot to atone for. She can’t believe she’s messed up this badly. _Again_.

(She’d tried _trusting_ , she’d tried _believing_ , and look where it’s gotten her.)

The flight takes hours, even with the quinjet, and soon enough Stark’s wounds start catching up to him and he flags, eyeing her suspiciously until he doesn’t even have the energy for that. It’s when he’s passed out completely that Natasha moves, hands stretching out towards him to begin the arduous task of stripping him of what little of his armour remains – the pieces jagged and broken, gold tarnished and dulled from violence.

The quinjet shakes warningly. “Agent Romanoff, I’ll have to ask you to please refrain.”

Natasha stops.

“I’m only going to take his armour off and treat his wounds.” She says slowly, carefully.

“Trained medical professionals are already waiting for Boss at the destination. Please, feel free to relax for the remainder of the flight. I shall keep an eye on Boss’ vitals.”

The guilt festers. ( _this is her fault._ ) Natasha shamefully takes back her hands, and for the rest of the flight she sits, unable to bring herself to look away from Stark’s bruised face.

#

Tony startles awake what feels like seconds later, the sensation of free falling lingering in the spaces between sleep and reality. The Black Widow remains seated, eyes sliding off him as the helicopter (quinjet?) lands softly, far too softly for the helicopters Tony remembers.

He’s pretty sure this is an illusion. Something weird and bizarre Loki’s strung him up in since his glowy stick of doom didn’t work. He can’t help finding it cool. _Magic’s_ cool – something he wants to break apart and unearth, something to burrow into the heart of and _explore_.

Either way, Romanoff stares at him as he stands up and stretches, wincing as his body _groans_ in a way it hasn’t since Afghanistan (don’t think about it don’t think about it _don’t think about it-_ ). The armour pitifully falls off around him, breaking into tiny pieces at the jostling of his body, and the AI – _Friday_ , holy _shit_ – tells him that they’ve landed, reached wherever it is they’ve been planning on reaching.

The helicopter’s ramp lowers, letting in bright sunlight and a humongous building on the other side with a sleek design, wall-length windows and greenery all around it. Romanoff stands up herself, expression blank save for the pursed lips, and makes her way down the ramp.

Tony moves to follow, except the ramp suddenly starts rising again right before he reaches it, and Romanoff turns as soon as she notices and says, “FRIDAY, what-”

“I have taken you to the compound,” FRIDAY’s – _FRIDAY_ , Tony still can’t get over the thrill her existence gives him – prim voice happily says, the tone layered with steel. “As you requested.”

Romanoff looks tense and worried, her shoulders up to her ears as she takes a halting step towards them, towards the rapidly closing ramp. “FRIDAY, don’t-! He needs to be here! Tony, come out here-!”

The ramp is just shy of closing shut, and for the split second it calculate at what angle he’d have to throw himself through it to escape, Tony considers actually listening to Romanoff and getting off.

He just as quickly decides _hell no_.

Illusion this may be, brought on by magic and the insanity of aliens actually existing, but Tony Stark will forever choose his AI’s over shady super spy agents that stab him in the neck.

Even if the AI he’s choosing is one that’s – at most – just the very base lines of codes and JARVIS’ melodramatic moaning of being replaced.

(A sting of grief, deep in his breast bone, easy enough to not even notice. The sudden thickness in his throat less so, but he swallows and it passes.)

“So,” Tony says instead, ramp shutting close, ignoring the harsh thumps and loud shouts of his name as the quinjet lights up and begins lift off. He flops into the pilot’s seat and watches gleefully as the console self-pilots itself (so _cool_!). “Do I get brownie points for following you, oh AI overlord?”

A momentary pause – easily unnoticed by those less versed in the machinations of AI’s – and then, hesitantly, “Boss, what happened?”

FRIDAY’s turning out to have just as much autonomy and emotions as JARVIS. Tickle Tony _pink_.

“You tell me, FRI,” he replies instead, cheeky and amused, throwing his (now armourless) legs over the dashboard. “How come you’re online, and this advanced already? Where’s JARVIS, the little shit? He’s been influencing you behind my back hasn’t he? Is this some sort of revenge for Afghanistan? He can’t be angry at me about _aliens invading_ , jeez.”

Silence.

And then the main console, the one right in front of him, flickers with what vaguely looks like AI panic, specifically like the panic JARVIS used to experience in the early days, an overload of different processes and algorithms too advanced for a fledging baby AI to compute. The word error crops up a bunch of times, and so many of them are being logged and filed almost as quickly as they pop up.

The code disappears just as quickly, a hell of a lot faster than it would take baby JARVIS to work through it, everything returning back to a calming blue (wrong wrong _wrong_ ). It hints at better management of uncertainties, maybe better coding to help deal with moments where something doesn’t compute with the information the AI has, and Tony’s impressed as FRIDAY, less hesitantly, less awkwardly, but a whole lot more _insistently_ , says, “Boss, I must insist. _What_ , exactly, is your last memory?”

It’s not a question this time, but it _does_ sound like a plea.

Tony’s a dick, he’ll be the first person to admit it, but he’s not a dick to his baby AI’s (just the full grown ones). He tells her the same thing he told Romanoff, and then asks again, “Where’s JARVIS?” He chokes on the name, clears his throat, frowns, and says again, “Where’s JARVIS?”

FRIDAY is silent, and then, slowly, haltingly, in a way an AI should not be able to say, says “Boss… JARVIS hasn’t been ‘round since 2015...”

Alarm bells ringing, Tony sits up, fingers resting against the dashboard as his eyebrows furrow together. “FRI,” the nickname falls easily off his lips, familiar and beloved despite never having _met_ this AI, and somewhere in the back of his head there’s suddenly screaming and outright _fear_ as he follows up with, “What do you mean JARVIS-”

“Boss…” FRIDAY says, but he doesn’t hear the rest of it, head suddenly filled with cotton, ears suddenly roaring with–

_"As always sir, a great pleasure watching you work."_

“Boss? _Boss_!”

–He’s on the floor. (Tony doesn’t remember being on the floor.) The lights and colours are blurring (void, up above, _stars_ , up above) Somebody is shouting (he’s failing her he’s failing her just like he failed _him_ ) his body is _screaming_ -

Tony Stark falls unconscious on the quinjet floor. Five minutes later, he goes into cardiac arrest.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember - double-posted! Meaning if you read chapter 1 then you've missed chapter 2! Also, enter Rhodey! And plot. (Please heed the tags/warnings.)

His last memory is of the sceptre touching his chest, the alien metal clinking delicately against the glass surface of his arc reactor, and the momentary pause of held breath as both parties waited for something to happen.

Nothing did.

( _Everything did_.)

Tony Stark wakes up in a similar fashion, his memory disjointed and murky, swimming out of zero matter and particle dust into what vaguely looks like earthly surroundings.

A hand holding his own immediately pings on his radar. Large and warm, calloused fingertips, tapping a rhythm that seems illegible at first before Tony’s mind suddenly kicks in and _understands_.

_wake up._

( _A quiet part of him screams the same, inconsolably, voice hoarse from the years – the **years** – it had done just that.)_

There’s blue at the edges of his vision, disappearing in flimsy tendrils as he blinks drowsily, trying to get his eyes and brain to work. A ceiling, he thinks, noting it with muted peculiarity. Huh. A weirdly familiar looking ceiling.

The hand squeezes his, pausing a little in its morse code, demanding his attention, and a familiar voice says, “Tones?”

Rhodey.

( _a quiet part of him screams-_ )

Tony startles back to reality when Rhodey calls his name again, blinking rapidly to bring his brain back online, ignoring the way it stutters and halts at the back of his mind.

“Honey bunch,” he greets, surprised by the croaky quality of his voice. “Did you kiss me awake?”

Rhodey’s face – older and wearier, what the fuck happened to make Rhodey look this stressed? – crumbles, eyes watering up as he squeezes Tony’s hand tighter and equally croaks back, “You little piece of shit.”

Tony squawks – hoarsely – gearing up to defend his honour, but Rhodey makes a weird choking noise and crumbles – _physically_ – over the hand he now has in a death grip.

“I thought I lost you.” Rhodey says, voice cracking over the words.

“I thought you were finally dead.” Rhodey continues, words thick with tears.

“I thought, after everything you’ve fucking been through, this would be what killed you.” Rhodey sobs, shoulders shaking.

Tony stares, for once in his life at a loss for words, swallowing thickly at the emotions rising up his gorge, threatening to choke him too.

“Rhodey,” he replies slowly, carefully, picking over his words with a care he hasn’t since MIT. “Just what the hell happened?”

Even Afghanistan hadn’t shaken Rhodey up this bad, and Rhodey had been shaken up _pretty bad_ from Afghanistan. Tony’s other hand twitches, just enough for him to notice the canula and the line extending upwards, to a bag of sodium chloride half way empty. IV fluids. Why is he hooked up to IV fluids?

His friend, his _brother_ , gives a full body shudder, shoulders shaking as his head bows further down, resting against Tony’s forearm. Around them, the room is blanketed by quiet, interrupted only by the steady beeping of the heart monitor, a hypnotic rhythm that brings the opposite of calm. His vitals look steady (HR 86, RR 17, BP 152/89, SATS 89% on room air – low sats, but with his reduced lung mass better than expected), and the single lead heart trace shows nothing but sinus rhythm.

All normal.

Tony wants to press, wants to grill Rhodey and demand answers. He wants to get out of this room, away from the familiar ceiling of his childhood bedroom, away from the trappings of his initial years and the claustrophobia of unwanted memories.

Why is he here? Why did Rhodey bring him here? Rhodey _knows_ he hates it here.

But the still shaking shoulders keep his mouth shut, the wetness on his hand keeps him uncomfortably quiet, feeling awkward and guilty and all of fourteen years old; drunk and naked for the first time.

It doesn’t take long for Rhodey to get himself under control again though, it never does, Tony reflects ruefully, remembering the last time he’d seen Rhodey like this (when he’d been all of fourteen years old; drunk and naked for the first time). Rhodey clears his throat quietly, still with his forehead to Tony’s hand, and breathes deeply for a moment before finally sitting up.

His eyes are still wet, tear tracks visible and blatant, and the misery on his face is only offset by the determination there.

“Tony,” Rhodey starts, pausing to take a deep breath before trying again, “Tony, I need you to tell me what you last remember.”

It’s the third time someone’s asked him this, and Tony says as much, voice still croaky but getting better with every swallow around a too dry mouth.

Rhodey grimaces, apologetic but still determined. “I know, bud, but I still need you to tell me.”

Except Tony’s had enough. “And why’s that? What the hell is going on, Rhodey? Why am I _here_? I thought I burnt this place to the ground right after college.”

Rhodey _actually rolls his eyes_ at that, the sheer nerve of him. “Please, as if I’d have let you. I took out the fire and then changed the subject.”

Considering that for the majority of his twenties Tony’s pretty sure he’d been three sheets to the wind, it’s highly plausible.

Tony still calls bullshit.

“Rhodey.”

“Tony.”

“Rho _dey_.”

“To _ny_.”

“Come _oooon_ , Rhoodeyyyyyy!”

“Toooooooonnnyyyyyyy.” Rhodey replies deadpan, tone utterly monotone.

 _Goddammit_ , Tony seethes, he knows that face and tone. Rhodey’s being _stubborn_.

“Fine!” He huffs, about to throw his hands in the air before remembering the canulla and how very good that would not be. “So, last memory is being on a weird helicopter with FRIDAY – _FRIDAY_ , Rhodey, what the fuck? – basically kidnapping me to god knows where. Except it’s not really kidnapping because a) I’m an adult and b) I totally joined her because why the hell _not_.”

Rhodey, still deadpan, still with tear tracks visible on his face, says, “Before that, Tony. Before Natasha too.”

Oh, _that_ before, huh? “Aliens!” Tony cheers, ignoring the hive part of his mind still blubbering over the fact that _aliens fucking exist_. “Invading us! And I fought them and their leader. I was in the tower and had everything under control.”

“Until when, Tony?” Rhodey presses, but his expression has changed, ever so slightly, the look in his eyes echoing Natashenka’s back in the cold secret super base. “What’s the very last memory you have?”

Something’s wrong.

The thought hits Tony suddenly, and he immediately believes it. Everything snaps into place, all the weird little details – the cold bunker, Natashaloff’s weirdness, the new armour, _FRIDAY_ – coalescing into one significant truth: something’s wrong.

Tony stares at Rhodey, mind suspiciously quiet, the ever present scream smothered in the back suddenly silent.

And says, “The invasion. I remember trying to stall Loki while JARVIS was getting me another suit ready. He tried to brainwash me with his sceptre. He hit the reactor right he-”

Flesh.

Tony’s fingers tap against flesh.

His breath gets stuck in his voice, red flickers at the edge of his vision, an Iron Man armour, standing tall and strong, arc reactor blue ( _bLUe)_ shining in the centre. He scrambles at his chest, ripping apart the shirt, fingers digging into the _pink flesh_ marred by strange scars and _missing an arc reacto-_

“Boss?”

Feminine voice, robotic tilt to it, coming from the Iron Man armour that takes a step towards him, hand outstretching in concern (how is it _doing_ that?). Wrong voice, he suddenly thinks, ignoring the repeat of the term, ignoring the warm hand Rhodey puts on his shoulder. Wrong voice, wrong voice, _wrong voice-_

“Where’s JARVIS?” He croaks, suddenly drowning, suddenly struggling to breathe, images flashing in his mind that _he doesn’t remember_ -

“Where’s _JARVIS_?”

Rhodey’s dark eyes are blown wide, horror and fear naked on his face. His wobbly voice croaks in reply, “He’s not here, Tony. He-… He hasn’t been here for a while, now. Remember ULTRON?”

( _uLTroN- “no sTRinGS oN ME-”)_

“What?” He hears himself gasp. “Who?” He hears himself choke, name sounding familiar, strings of luminous blue code and a man with fluffy hair and wide rimmed glasses accepting blueberries. “Where’s JARVIS?” How can he not be here? How can he not be here _for a while_? Where the _hell_ is- “Rhodey, _where_ _the_ _hell is JARVIS?_ ”

“Boss-” the AI again, wrong and familiar and _female_ \- “The AI known as JARVIS ceased to exist on May the 2nd, 2015. This also-”

(- _evEryThIng sNAPS iNTo pLACe-_ )

“Tony?”

blue drowning h _IM anD he’S sUddenly THROWN BACK_ , Loki in front of him, a _quIP_ on his _toNgUE_ , portal up aBOVE, alien’s streaming down below, and-

-silence.

Outer space.

In space, no one can hear you scream.

And oh, how Tony had screamed.

“Tony!”

Fingers digging into him, too many digits, too many joints, too dark and oily and _clawed at the tIPs_ , the chattering of too many teeth and alien dialect, the stuttering of his arc reactor, the burning _cOLd of SibERIA- no, of sPAcE_ \- eating into his bones. And he’s screaming, he’s screaming and screaming and _screaming_ , and oh- he’s doing that right now isn’t he, in the Stark Mansion, in his childhood bedroom, and there’s hands ( _hAnDS_ ) holding his shoulders, holding him _dOWn_ and _nO-_

Tony Stark gasps awake, like a drowning man finally back on land, and immediately vomits all over Rhodey’s front.

And as soon as he catches his breath, as soon as everything slots into place with a doublewhammy right into his sternum, Tony bursts into tears.

Rhodey, helpless and confused, rips off his vomit-stained shirt, and holds him tight, holds Tony close.

They stay like that for hours until Tony finally quiets down, until Rhodey finally feels his breathing come back to normal, until the ex-air force colonel’s own throat is no longer threatening to choke him with panic and grief.

Rhodey can tell that something’s wrong. Natasha’s words buzz in his ears ( _“He didn’t recognise the Quinjet. He asked me what happened to my hair. He kept talking about Loki, about the Chitauri Invasion in New York. Rhodes, he- he asked for JARVIS.”_ )

FRIDAY’s recording of the quinjet runs through his mind too, igniting answers and worries both, the cardiac arrest on loop for Dr Cho and Dr Strange as they’d resuscitated Tony back to life in the hangar.

Strange was downstairs now, somewhere, hands shaking and muttering quietly under his breath. Cho had gone to a guest room to sleep, hands shaking for entirely different reasons, citing that she was never to be called for such an emergency ever again because she was _not_ _that kind of doctor_. Strange’s caustic remarks during the arrest probably hadn’t helped. Or the fact that he’d portalled her and himself right onto the still speeding quinjet mid-flight.

Rhodey would have gone too if he hadn’t just woken up three hours ago with the news that he’d forever be paralysed. The immediate news after of Tony having _died_ quickly pulled him out of his spiralling thoughts.

This though, this trumps all.

Something is very wrong with his friend.

“Tony,” Rhodey carefully says, arms still around the genius. “Tony, what the _hell_ is happening?”

The body in his arms shudders, breath hitching, before a croaky voice carefully replies, “I- I don’t remember.” It’s not the entire truth, but it’s not a lie either. Tony swallows thickly, his forehead resting against Rhodey’s shoulder, and adds, “Not _all_ of it, at least. But- but not much either.”

“Rhodey,” he croaks, voice exactly the same as it had been in the med room right after Aghanistan, “Rhodey, I think- _something’s wrong_.”

“Shhh,” Rhodey foolishly shushes, more instinctively than rationally. “Take a deep breath, come on, bud. Bit by bit, tell me.”

And slowly, haltingly so, Tony does just that.

#

_“Welcome home, Sir.”_

#

After the Chitauri Invasion, dubbed ‘The Battle of New York’ by the media, some truths come to light:

\- Loki’s sceptre, whilst brainwashing those under it’s thrall, doesn’t have complete control.

\- Clint shoots Fury in the chest, despite the undeniable knowledge that he would’ve had that Fury always wore Kevlar, and should have shot him in the head.

\- Selvig puts in a failsafe, despite no one telling him to, allowing Natasha to turn it off.

\- Loki leads the aliens to a slaughter, despite everything about him – and the scepter’s influence – saying that he should’ve led them to victory.

Throughout it all, two other truths come to light:

\- The sceptre’s influence is visible by the blue eyes of it’s victims.

\- The sceptre’s influence itself is due to the mind stone, one of the infinity stones.

Tony Stark’s eyes have never been blue.

“Actually,” FRIDAY, the AI he remembers but does not remember, hesitantly says, “I took the liberty of sifting through the old archives for what little I could find, and… well…”

“What is it, FRI?” Rhodey asks, completely at ease with the AI’s presence, an ease Tony can’t bring himself to feel.

A hologram appears from the Iron Man’s gauntlet, blue ( _bLUe_ ) interface coalescing to form a familiar image. Stark Towers – specifically, his living room, and Tony standing off against Loki. The video is grainy, jerking and halting, stuttering with static to indicate the damage the tower’s already taken, but it’s steady.

Their lips move, the mortal and the god, Loki’s eyes an unnerving ( _terrifying_ ) blue, and Rhodey’s lips thin as the sceptre gently taps against Tony’s chest.

Nothing happens on the video.

But then Loki _smiles_.

Tony doesn’t remember this – his last memory is of Loki’s face; the bruised, crazed mess of pale skin, the clink of his sceptre touching Tony’s arc reactor through his shirt, and then _nothing_.

And he certainly doesn’t ( _does_ ) remember the victory flashing across the too pale Viking’s expression, the tightening of those blue ( _blue_ ) eyes in what – for a split second – looks like regret, or what happens after.

He doesn’t ( _he does_ ) remember the god’s voice, low and silky, saying, “ _Blue suits you,”_ or his flippant reply of, “ _Unlike you.”_

But he _does (_ does) remember Loki’s face twisting into ( _confusion_ ) rage, he _does_ remember getting thrown out of his own damn window, he _does_ remember JARVIS saving him at the very last moment.

And then space.

And the Chitauri.

And the mad titan.

The Tony in the video is turned away from the camera, Loki’s smile all that’s visible. They exchange a few set of words ( _blue suits you-_ ) and suddenly Loki’s face twists into anger as the god hurls Tony out of a window.

FRIDAY pauses the recording, right when Tony’s face is turned towards the camera. And there, damning proof, enough to have Tony closing his eyes in muted disbelief and Rhodey inhaling sharply, is his own, younger, face.

Blue eyes and all.

“I have no further recordings,” FRIDAY apologises, tone visible distraught. “There’s no note or data to go with this, nothing at _all_ , as if the AI known as JARVIS would not have noticed the blue eyes and realised what they meant. Boss, the next recording available of you is-”

The recording twitches, changes, showing Tony and the others surrounding a beaten Loki. Green eyed and bruised, Loki lays kneeling on the floor, and his lips read a request for a drink, if so possible.

The camera switches, showing the avenger’s faces, and Tony (past Tony) stands in the middle, eyes brown and clear.

“Switch it off.”

FRIDAY, bless her circuits, actually listens to him, and does just that.

“Tony, what the _hell_ ,” Rhodey breathes, _circumventing him_ and gesturing FRIDAY to turn on the initial still. Blue eyes stare back, framed by dark eyelashes, and a little lower below sits the famous Stark Dyke. “What the _hell_.” Rhodey repeats, starting to sound hysterical. “What the _fuck_ does that mean?”

“I was fighting the control,” Tony answers mutely, listless and exhausted. “Just like everybody else, I was fighting it. But then I took that trip through the portal-”

“-And you _came back_ ,” Rhodey wheezes, clutching Tony’s shoulders too tight, too desperate, _begging_ Tony not to contradict him.

“Not really,” he says, doing just that, throat tight, sense memory of too many fingers crawling over his skin making him uneasy. “Rhodey, I- I don’t remember anything clearly until-”

_– until he blinks, ready to open his mouth and say something derogatory, only to suddenly realise that it's not Loki that's in front of him still, it’s… Natashalie. Romanoff. Romanova? The red headed agent that stabbed him in the neck as a greeting –_

“No,” breathes Rhodey, horror and fear turning him breathless. “That’s…”

 _Frightening_.

The ramifications of what it could mean are _humongous_ , and the fact that Tony doesn’t have a clue how _long_ he’s missing is _terrifying_. He can feel the sheer gravity of the situation looming above him, threatening to pull him under in a tidal wave, but right now, at the very moment, everything is just numb.

Tony feels nothing but numb.

And he knows right now that’s for the best.

He’s in no state to deal with this – he wouldn’t even know the first _thing_ about dealing with this – and for once in his goddamn life he doesn’t _want_ to deal with this.

Why should he? Tony has given _everything_ of his to the cause, he’s given sweat, blood, and _tears_ , fucking _tears_ , trying to do the right thing. And now? Now he has to deal with this. Now he has to deal with whatever the _fuck_ happened on a tiny ass rock in the middle of space that fucked him over _so bad_ and possibly fucked over everybody else as well.

JARVIS was dead.

JARVIS _is_ dead.

Tony swallows thickly.

He can’t do this.

( _A part of him is screaming, anger and loss and grief, and Tony realises it’s him that’s screaming, that it’s always been him that’s screaming.)_

But he has to. At least for this.

Clenching the sheets above his knees tightly, Tony swallows past the thick lump in his throat and inhales once, exhaling slowly through his nose. He just looks at Rhodey for a bit, thinks of how shit everything is and how much shitter everything will be, and realises he’s damn lucky to have a friend like Rhodey.

He’s damn lucky not to wake up with Rhodey dead, too.

( _falling, falling, crash._ )

“Tony…” Rhodey warns gently, already knowing what Tony’s about to ask. But he doesn’t go further, doesn’t tell him not to, to leave it alone, to not poke, because he knows Tony has to, knows Tony _will_.

“I have to know.” Tony apologises, wishing he could just leave it be, could just accept Rhodey’s warning and not poke at it. “I have to know how he died.”

Rhodey sighs, still gently holding Tony’s hands, but gives in like they both knew he would. And slowly, pausing every little moment here and there, Rhodey tells him how JARVIS died.

It’s a long story, but Tony doesn’t say a single word throughout.

In fact, for the rest of the night, he says absolutely nothing.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pretend you didn't see me change the fic's summary. *finger guns into obscurity*

There’s a strange man in his living room, dressed like a comic con reject, and glaring at him as if he has any right to do so.

Grumpily, Tony ignores him, shuffling towards the kitchen instead, nursing his ribs since they feel like someone’s freaking jumped on them. Repeatedly.

Because someone has. _Repeatedly._

(To save his life, sure, but _still_.)

Coffee brewing, Tony leans against the cool surface of the fridge, luxuriating in the sensation as voices start up behind him in the living room he’s just walked through. Rhodey, he recognises, voice deep and calm, evoking safety even in the clusterfuck of their realisation, and then another, probably that renaissance looking man, voice even deeper but far less calm, a cutting tone that brooks no argument.

Guy sounds like fun.

The voices rise in the background, Rhodey snaps something, the other man snaps something back, and Tony wonders for a moment again why the hell they’re in his childhood home as he goes searching for a mug, grimacing as he finds the one his shitty old man used to use. Ah well, it’s big. Tony needs big for his coffee.

FRIDAY, still in the (updated, because it’s the _future_ ) Iron Man suit, has followed him into the room. She’s awkward and uncertain, shuffling in a way that looks bizarre for a million-dollar piece of technological wonder, and Tony can _feel_ the guilt wafting off her like a bad body odour.

She feels bad for the way she’s told him about JARVIS; not once, but twice.

She blames herself for the cardiac arrest. And for the absolute freak out and vomiting he’d done all over Rhodey.

Tony feels… something, about that. He’s not sure what, but at the moment he doesn’t really care.

He’s too numb for a lot of feelings to come through.

Rhodey had been to the point in his storytelling, telling him the important bits, the bits relating to JARVIS and JARVIS alone. He’d given what context had needed to be given (why they’d found the sceptre in that HYDRA base, why HYDRA even _existed_ ,) but he hadn’t gone into too much detail, understanding that Tony was in no state of mind – _is_ in no state of mind – to give a damn.

It had all essentially boiled down to this: in Tony’s hubris, he’d killed the most important person in his life.

Tony swallows the coffee, burning liquid and all.

The other most important person in his life wheels themself into the kitchen, strong arms rolling the wheels of the wheelchair with little struggle. That’s another thing Rhodey had had to explain, making sure to spell out exactly how none of it was Tony’s fault, how Rhodey had made the decision to join the fight himself, how Rhodey would have done it all again knowing full well he’d end up _paralysed_ for life.

Even that story had essentially boiled down to this: in Tony’s god damn _fucking_ hubris, he’d almost killed (and instead permanently damaged) the other most important person in his life.

This is the shittiest case of amnesia _ever_.

So FRIDAY is somehow his AI now, limited to the (sleeker, advanced) Iron Man suit as the old Stark Mansion never got the good ol’ Tony Stark renovation that everywhere else did with the birth of JARVIS. Stark Industries’ is being led by the ever more powerful Pepper Potts, who – get _this_ – Tony had been in a _relationship with_ and somehow fucking screwed _that_ up, and-

“Who the hell is cosplay dude?” Tony frowns, coffee mug halfway up to his face so he can inhale its sweet, _sweet_ , aroma. “And what’s he doing in my house?”

The stranger in the weird cloak pulls a face, offence clear in the downturn of his mouth as he curtly introduces himself with a sharp, “Doctor Strange. Sorcerer Supreme. Also the one that saved your life.”

Coffee mug now resting against his lower lip, Tony slowly raises a single eyebrow in challenge and turns to Rhodey.

Rhodey, rolling his eyes to high heavens, heaves a heavy sighs.

“Doctor Strange,” he repeats, waving a hand in cosplay man’s general direction. “Also the Sorcerer Supreme. He _did_ save your life. When you were having a cardiac arrest in the quinjet.”

Oh. _Oh_.

“So what, you want a mansion or something? I could put in a good word to last year’s calendar girls, if that’s your thing.”

Strange’s face _spasms_ , insult to injury, offended disbelief heavy in the widening of his eyes. Tony hides the quirk of his own lips in amusement at the reaction with his coffee mug, because god, he hadn’t even intended to sound so dickish, but now that he has he can’t help but find it _hilarious._

Surprisingly, Rhodey doesn’t jump to intervene, to smooth rustled feathers and try and save Tony from his own stupidity like he usually does. Instead, the colonel ( _ex_ , a voice whispers bitterly) just stares at Tony in confused surprise, opening his mouth to say something only to get interrupted by a sudden commotion coming from what sounds to be the front entrance.

Before either Rhodey or Strange Comic-con guy can do anything, someone comes barging in, vaguely familiar in that way everybody’s familiar when you see new faces every goddamn day. Greying hair and a even more greying moustache that only partially covers the downward tilt of displeasure on his lips. Broad shoulders and military blue’s – army, then. By the recognition immediately visible on Rhodey’s face, air force, most likely, though Rhodey-bear runs in different circles too.

“The hell you playing at, Stark?!” The moustache shouts, stalking up to him and actually trying to use his height to intimidate Tony. “I’ve got grounds to arrest you right the _fuck_ now after the stunt you pulled!”

The stunt _he_ pulled? Tony sips at his now lukewarm coffee, irritably wondering how the fuck he’s ended up in his childhood kitchen with so many people cluttering it up.

“Hold up,” Rhodey frowns, coming to Tony’s rescue like the patootybear he absolutely is, wheeling closer to try and get in between them. “You leave Tony the hell alone, Ross. How the hell you gonna barge in here blaming him?”

Ross – as in Thunderbolt Ross? No wonder why he looks so familiar! – argues back, something about an airport, something about a task force – nobody in the kitchen hears Tony’s confused, “Why the fuck is Ross, of all people, in my childhood kitchen?” – Rhodey’s voice rises in response, until both of them are straight up _shouting at each other_ in his goddamn childhood kitchen.

“Shut it, Rhodes!” ThunderRoss snaps, cutting off Rhodey _very rudely_ if Tony says so himself, “I’ve got half a mind to arrest you too after you both let those damn fugitives escape the RAFT!”

Like _hell_.

Throwing back what remains of his – still delicious, but certainly not warm – coffee, Tony finds the numb part of himself actually clearing up, the haze of foggy detachment leaving in the same way it did after the whole Obie bullcrap following Afghanistan. Nothing had seemed _real_ until Obie had exploded and left Tony with even more trust issues than he’d already had.

Now, something similar happens. He’s still not sure what the _hell_ he’s going to do about the entire _nightmare_ lurking above his head, waiting to swallow him whole, or about FRIDAY unintentionally fanning the flames between the two military men by suggesting using the Iron Man armour to get _rid_ of Ross, or about Stranger Danger just creepily standing in the corner of the kitchen watching everything with bored interest.

But Tony _does_ know one thing.

Ross is a fucking _prick_.

Coffee mug on the countertop, Tony demands attention by slapping his hands together loudly. The argument immediately cuts off, Ross and Rhodey turning to face him, both actually red in the face from the heat of their argument.

“So while this is all lovely, Ross, I thought you knew my consulting hours are between 1 and 3 on every third Wednesday. Today is…”

“Tuesday, Boss.”

“And the third Wednesday is…”

“Two weeks from tomorrow, Boss.”

“And the time is…”

“Just past ten in the morning, Boss.”

“So you see,” Tony smiles, stepping closer to Ross, uncaring about the height difference. “Today is not the day for you to be in my kitchen without a prior agreement, _Ross_.”

Thunderchild’s face turns purple, anger and indignation scratching at the surface to be let out. “You have some _nerve_ , Stark.”

“And you don’t have a warrant to be in my house, _Ross_.” Tony grins back, tongue sharp, teeth sharper. “So you’re going to leave and get in contact with me through the _official means_ and I’ll try and squeeze you in somewhere. Or my lawyers are going to hear about you barging into my home while my good friend Rhodey here is _trying_ to medically recover in a safe environment.”

(Nothing to recover from, Rhodey’s _paralyzed_ , and apparently, it’s all _Tony’s fault_. Nope, don’t think about it.)

“You want me to get you a taxi?” He offers, turning away from the general and towards the coffee machine. It perks up and starts brewing before he can get there, and Tony, pleased as punch, throws FRIDAY a thumbs up.

(She’s learning.)

He doesn’t see Ross staring at his back, anger building into a sneer, or the slight confusion in the man’s expression. But he _does_ hear Ross threaten, “You’ll fucking hear from me, all right.” Before turning around and leaving, front door slamming shut in announcement of his exit.

Pot happily brewing away, Tony leans against the counter next to it, pulling good ol’ Howard’s mug closer so he can pour into it when the coffee’s ready, and lazily blinks at Rhodey. “The fuck’s up with that guy?”

In the silence that follows, Rhodey just stares at him, expression unreadable, something strange Tony can’t really get a bead on before saying, “You remember him?”

“’Course,” Tony frowns, drumming his fingers against the countertop, trying to wrack his mind for why exactly he remembers Ross. “He was in charge of the whole Hulk thing, wasn’t he? I bought out his favourite drinking bar when he pissed me off.” The memories fuzzy, but the rising feeling of petty satisfaction confirms the memory as being spot on.

Tony _does_ like pissing people off.

“Why am I not surprised to hear that?” Strangebeard unnecessarily intrudes, eyeing Tony with displeasure. “Your… abrasive personality is infamous.”

“Who the hell are you again?” Tony shoots back, rolling his eyes dismissively.

Rhodey sighs, cutting through the inevitable bickering that would’ve started, and wheels towards Tony. He’s good with the wheelchair, hands steady, despite the recent timeline of his injury, and Tony’s eyes track over the simplistic mechanisms as he comes closer with a supportive smile.

Then Rhodey steals his coffee.

“Tony, be nice.” He says, just as he takes a large gulp of _Tony’s goddamn coffee_.

“ _Tony_ ,” Tony imitates, voice high and bitchy, “ _Be nice._ ”

Rhodey’s eyes are dancing in mirth, even as he polishes off Tony’s cup. It doesn’t last long – both the drink and the mirth, Tony mourns both as soon as they disappears – replaces itself with seriousness and a grim downturn of his lips. “Tony, do you remember Doctor Strange at all?”

Implying Tony _should_ remember him, which is weird as shit. “No,” he answers anyway, crossing his arms over his chest, ignoring the sudden chill chasing away the heat of caffeine. “Should I?”

“Apparently, you’ve been in contact with him for about four years now.” Rhodey answers, lips pulling down further.

“Apparently?” Wait- “ _Four years?_ ” What?

“You never told me,” says Rhodey, eyeing Tony with a frown. “For about four whole years you were in pretty serious discussions with this guy about science and the human mind and you never once told me.”

Tony opens his mouth, then closes it when he realises he has nothing to say. Stranger Danger’s staring at him, intelligence a sharp, cunning thing behind his dark eyes, and Tony wonders ‘ _four years is a damn long time to know someone’_.

“Our contact stopped after my…” Redbeard pauses before finishing with a delicate, “… accident.”

Something sparks in the back of his mind, something to do with hands, trembling too much to be ignored, something to do with misery, and the thought _‘yes, soon, now’_.

It feels foreign, whatever it is.

Tony swallows thickly and ignores it.

“Colonel Rhodes has told me what he can,” continues the stranger (except apparently he’s not, except apparently Tony’s been talking with him for _four fucking whole years_ ), “And I must say I find the predicament you are in… fascinating.”

Predicament? Fascinating? How the fuck did he put up with this dick for four years?

Footsteps become audible, from the stairs, and a woman enters the kitchen slowly, eyeing them all with trepidation. It takes a bit for Tony to clock on, for Tony to _recognise_ the woman, but as soon as he does he blurts out, “Holy shit, you’re Doctor Helen Cho. Did I poach you from that old bastard Gin?”

Doctor Cho freezes, staring at him in utter shock, dumbfounded, and then says, “You know Gin?”

Tony pulls a face, disgust pulling at his lips as he opens his mouth to-

“-Actually, no,” Doctor Cho wisely cuts in, raising a hand that leaves Tony snapping his mouth shut. “You know what? I don’t want to know. You can keep whatever issues you have with my boss to yourself. And _no_ , Doctor Stark, you have not _poached_ me from U-GIN. But I’m more curious as to why you’re acting like this is the first time we have met.”

Tony stares at her. Turns to look at Strange, then Rhodey. And finally turns back to stare at her. “And how long _has_ it been since we first met?”

Doctor Cho frowns at him, confusion turning to worry as she replies, “I’d say about three years or so.” And then- “… Stark, are you alright?”

“Fascinating,” says Strange, eyeing Tony like a puzzle piece. “I see what you mean, Colonel Rhodes. May I?”

“May you what-”

“Go ahead,” Rhodey interrupts, and then to Tony- “Tones, stay still.”

Stay still? Stay still for _what-_

_(the nuke explodes, the ships break apart, floating in dead space, and tony floats, floats, f l o a t s, until he realises he’s actually being pulled in, a grip on his dead suit dragging him closer to the epicentre of the destruction, to the lone rock that floats, floats, f l o a t s, and there-)_

“Tony?!”

_(-“foolish mortal,” pain lights up his nerves, a too many fingered hand wraps around his throat, there’s air on the rock that’s cold and b u r n s, acid in his saliva, the entirety of reality – of the nebulas around him – warping and bending and-)_

“Tony!! Shit, Strange, what-!”

_(-the little godling failed failed f a i l e d, silver tongue begged and promised and swore things it could not do, and for that the little godling shall b u r n. but not him, his tongue – dipped in gold – too heavy to speak, too heavy to beg, too heavy to promise and swear and curse. he is already b u r n i n g, he’s cracking at the seams, coming u n d o n e-)_

-Tony blinks, suddenly groggy, suddenly sleepy, and oh. Oh, he’s on the floor. He’s on the floor of his childhood kitchen. He’s on the floor with three people staring at him, panicked and worried. He’s on the floor with the biggest headache of all time, threatening to crack his skull in half, and the taste of iron in his mouth.

Rhodey’s got tears in his eyes, Stephano looks guilty and unused to the feeling, Cho (distantly: _did she get that cradle thing going?_ ) looks freaked.

“We shall not do that again,” Stephanie Strange intones, heavy and purposeful.

“Never, ever, _ever_.” Cho fiercely agrees.

Tony just yawns, and let’s Rhodey pick up him with strong arms to join him in the wheelchair, until he’s sitting in his lap and held tightly against Rhodey’s strong chest. “Fucking _never_.”

He’s not sure what they’re so worried about, but it’s okay. Rhodey will tell him if it’s anything important.

#

Cabin fever sets in quickly after that.

Tony can’t quite tell when the last time he’d been so stationary ever was; he hasn’t done a damn thing for... three weeks now? No board meeting, no gala or charity event, not even any tinkering!

“Tony, we just need to take a break, man. Get our heads on straight.” Rhodey says, blinking big eyes up at Tony every time he so much as sneezes towards the outside world or the workshop he knows his old man has in the basement.

But one morning, the puppy dog eyes stop working. Three weeks is too damn long for even Rhodey’s big lashes, and Tony is sick and tired of the moping around.

So what if his memories are shot to shit and what he _does_ remember makes Afghanistan look like a children’s fashion show? So what if there’s so much FRIDAY and Rhodey are colluding together to keep him out of because he’s just completely and utterly lacking in context?

Enough moping around.

He’s Tony fucking Stark, and Stark men are made of iron.

Shaving his face enforces that sense of victory; the sharp, clean lines of his infamous Stark Dyke returning back to existence, straightening the slope of his shoulders, unloading some of the weight on his back. Throwing on a far too expensive three-piece suit feels like shrugging into comfortable pyjamas, and suddenly Tony feels like the face he sees in magazines, the face he sees splashed against billboards, the face he sees on TV.

He’s Tony fucking Stark, and fucked up alien amnesia is _nothing_ to him.

“FRIDAY,” he declares, announcing his entry into the living room where the ever present Iron Man suit is helping Rhodey do some physio. (He ignores the stab of guilt that hits him at the image. Nope, no more moping. _No more._ ) “Get me a date – a gala or something. I need to go do something _scandalous_.”

“Tony, no,” Rhodey predictably says.

“Tony, _yes_.” He (also predictably) replies.

“Boss,” FRIDAY tries, gently making sure Rhodey’s stable before letting go of him. “The likelihood of danger occurring from leaving these premises are at an unacceptable rate of 82%. It would be best if you remained here.”

Tony’s not hearing any of it. “Oh, would you look at this,” he says, scrolling through his phone one handed, pretending to be completely focused on what he sees. “Oprah’s having a party. She’s great, she wouldn’t mind me crashing.”

A heavy sigh, Rhodey carefully seating himself on a sofa. “I’m just surprised I was able to keep you in this long.”

That’s a filthy lie. Rhodey’s been milking the shit out of his injury knowing it’ll keep Tony too guilty to act out. He’s still too guilty – otherwise he would’ve just left the whole damn building as soon as he’d woken up.

Tony stares at him, at the braces on his legs FRIDAY says he’d been working on before apparently getting the ridiculous urge to fly to _Siberia_ , of all places. He’s still not sure why he was there, and worryingly enough, neither are Rhodey or FRIDAY. The braces are good though, still new, still faulty, but _good_.

Tony’s too scared to break them to try making them better.

“There’s a charity event down on 4th to get some funds for firefighters,” Rhodey answers, an apology and concession all in one. “Let me get my clothes on and we can go.”

Hesitation wells up in Tony’s throat. The braces stand out against Rhodey’s sweatpants, loud on every movement, huge and clunky. “You… You sure you gonna be okay out there?” He hates to ask, to bring to focus Rhodey’s injury, Rhodey’s _paralysis_ , but Rhodey’s always been a better man than him and has used the three weeks to accept and learn his new quality of life, to grow with it.

Sometimes, he gets snappish. A time or two Tony has left him be, realising the sudden harsh words are just Rhodey lashing out in a moment of anger. Other times, Rhodey’s the one to leave, so he can just be… sad… in his own space.

The Stark Mansion’s always felt huge before, when Tony was young and even after, when he was the only surviving member of it. But with the two of them, with FRIDAY and even Strange still loitering around (Cho had left two weeks in, after confirming Rhodey wouldn’t need the Cradle any more and taking images upon images of Tony’s brainwaves or something or other), it suddenly feels smaller.

Too many changes under one roof.

“I’ll be fine,” Rhodey replies, tone controlled and not giving anything away. “Everyone knows I’m paralysed, Tony. Me coming in a wheelchair isn’t going to be a surprise.”

He opens his mouth – to say what, he doesn’t know – then shuts it. Opens it up again without him realising and hears himself say: “Then stop with the chitter chatter and hurry up! Better wear something good – just because you’re in a wheelchair doesn’t mean you can dress like a slob.”

Shit.

_Shit_.

Rhodey stares at him, disbelief visible on his face. Even FRIDAY suddenly stands stock still, iron man armour inhuman in just how stationary it is. Tony feels his mouth open again, shut close, repeat and rinse as his brain struggles to understand just how the hell he could be so _douchebaggy_ to his _best friend_. God, he’s an asshole, he’s pissed Rhodey off, he’s just made _fun_ of his best friend’s _paralysis_ and it hasn’t even been a month since he initially got the injury.

Rhodey just stares at him, disbelief still present, and then finally – _finally_ – says, “I-…” only to shut his mouth again. And then- “Actually, you know what? I’m- I’m _surprised_. And I don’t know why I am. That’s- That’s exactly the kind of shit you would’ve said before the whole Avengers bullshit. That’s…” The disbelief is changing, morphing, becoming something else Tony can’t actually read, something he’s too afraid to call _sadness_. “I never realised just how much you changed, man.”

What the _hell_ is that supposed to mean? The Tony they knew, the one that came after he flew a nuke into space, that one wouldn’t have said such an asshole-ish thing? _That_ Tony knew how to filter his goddamn mouth? _That_ Tony was _better_?

Rhodey _laughs_ , snapping Tony out of his thoughts, and it’s a helpless thing, a small, disbelieving thing. He’s shaking his head, pinching the bridge of his nose as he says, “Holy shit. And the way you handled Ross, god, no wonder why it was so weird. That was _you_ , the you of back then, before all this shit started going down. The you that didn’t give a shit. Holy _shit_. You’d- all that shit had gone down and changed you so much and I never even _noticed_. I’m an _asshole_.”

How- How the hell did _Tony_ saying a cruel thing turn into _Rhodey_ calling _himself_ an asshole? This wasn’t- this wasn’t what was supposed to happen!

“Okay,” Rhodey carries right on, ignoring Tony’s fish impression, “Okay, so _that’s_ a thing. Okay.” He slaps both hands gently across his face, blinking owlishly for a moment before suddenly looking _ready_. Ready for what, Tony doesn’t have a damn clue, but he’s still opening and closing his mouth like an idiot _anyway_ and Rhodey’s already gesturing at FRIDAY to get him into the wheelchair. “Okay, give me about twenty minutes or so and I’ll change. FRIDAY, don’t let him leave on his own.”

And then he’s just… wheeling himself right out of the living room.

_Rude_.

Tony stares after him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, then turns back to FRIDAY.

Her head is cocked at an angle, a curious owl as she stares right back at him. “That,” she says slowly, voice clear and crisp from the Iron Man armour, “was very rude of you, Boss. But… I guess he didn’t think so? Humans are very strange.”

“I-,” Tony stops. Stares at her. Then shrugs in helpless confusion. “They really, _really_ , are.”

“You’re one of them, Boss.”

“Shhhh, not so loud.”

#

_“As always sir, a great pleasure watching you work."_

#

TONY STARK BACK IN ACTION

STARK RETURNS AFTER MONTH OF DISAPPEARANCE

INVINCIBLE IRON MAN, INJURED?

STARK UNDEFEATED

_18 th July 2017, Manhattan, New York City._

_After a month of no sightings, Tony Stark – Iron Man – has once more returned to the spotlight at the annual firefighter’s charity gala. He was accompanied by Colonel James Rhodes, who’d only recently been honourably discharged after sustaining life changing wounds fighting the Rogue Avengers._

_The two were dressed smartly – Stark in a navy Armani, Rhodes in charcoal Givenchy. Due to his spinal injuries, Rhodes arrived at the gala in a wheelchair, one that we could not help but notice looked particularly high tech._

_Neither party offered any answers as to the sudden disappearance and the even more sudden reappearance. Stark looked to be in high spirits, and he and Rhodes were noted to be as close as they’d ever been, with no tension between them pertaining to recent events._

_What exactly happened at the airport is still highly unknown, as are the locations of the Rogue Avengers. It is unknown if Colonel Rhodes at the moment will be able to pilot War Machine (briefly known as Iron Patriot), and if not who (if anyone) will take up the mantle. No doubt the Air Force and the US government will have already considered how to not lose such an important asset, and yet…-_

\- _We’ve noticed you’re using an adblocker. To read the rest of this article, please consider disabling the adblocker to help support us!_

_@ChristineEverhart_ _✔ (Christine Everhart)_

_Rogue Avengers supposedly break out of a high security prison in July, just as @TonyStark goes dark. A month later and he’s back, with the Rogue Avengers still nowhere to be seen. Coincidence? Keep an eye out – I’ll be posting an up to date analysis of the situation very soon. #rogueavengers #sokoviaaccords #civilwar #investigativejournalism_


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm done. i'm actually done with this. dear lord in heaven.

“Tones… you sure about this?”

Tony huffs, swiping through the tablet as fast as FRIDAY can bring up more articles and videos. He watches a few seconds of one – a man grows _huge_ , dressed in a _very_ familiar suit that Tony last remembers seeing at the age of maybe thirteen. Maybe a little less. When did Howard and Hank finally piss each other off past the point of no return? Might have been when he was seven. Eh. 

_Eh,_ he thinks as he swipes past it and lands on another video – a daily talk show with a sizeable following, he sees. Tony knows the presenter – initially a comedian, honest and fair. Actually a pretty decent human being. Watches as politicians and analysts and ‘ _opinionists_ ’ opine on the ‘civil war’, on Stark’s involvement, on the ‘Accords’.

Soaks it all in with a steady gaze and a finger tapping at the edge of the tablet.

“Need to know all this, Rhodey,” he answers distractedly, a part of his brain casually calculating the angle of Cap’s shield as it swings through the air, cutting through an aeroplane’s wings like a hot knife to butter. “You know the media will eat me alive, otherwise.”

Rhodey _does_ know this, he’s been around Tony since college and has gotten first-hand experience to Tony’s love affair with stardom, but he _still_ pulls the expression that says he’s none too pleased about it. Guess some things really never do change. “Fine,” he grumbles, wheeling himself towards the sofa Tony’s sprawled across. “Let me help, then. It’ll be faster.”

Tony moves his feet out of the way, holding back the urge to jump up and help Rhodey into the seat next to him. He doesn’t, knowing Rhodey doesn’t _need_ him, hasn’t needed him for however long it’s been since he’d gotten the injury and Tony had just _left him_ to frolic off to fucking _Siberia_ for god knows what reason.

Future him- actual him- no, _full_ _memory_ him- yes!- is an absolute douchebag.

Tony hates that he’s not that surprised.

“So, first thing that’s just not making sense,” Tony says loudly, shoving his thoughts aside as Rhodey settles in next to him. “Is the Sokovia Accords. The hell are they, who made them, who are they made _for_ , and do we support it?”

Rhodey leans a hand over, tapping at the screen until said accord fills up the space. “This,” he starts, “Will take a while.”

A while turns out to be eight hours, and even then it’s just only scratching the surface. Rhodey is forcing himself to be vague with the details – an infuriating development thanks to Sorcerer Sherlock and his _suggestion_ to do as very little mental prodding as possible. Tony pieces the information together, eyebrows furrowing into wrinkles as more and more dots start connecting and some of the videos and articles he’d seen make sense.

Rogue Avengers. Huh. Who’d have thought.

He’s flicking through a six hundred and fifty eight paged document about the accords themselves, red pen in hand. He’s gotten through about eighty of those pages so far, all of which are merely just flowery words saying that the actual accords was under the authority of the UN and NATO and nothing even remotely associated.

He’s already underlined far too much, scribbling notes and thoughts to certain passages in the sides, crossing out others outright with nothing to say, and growing more and more incensed as he reads through it.

“Rhodey,” he finally says, a hundred pages later, “This is a fucking bloodbath.”

And it _is_. He can see the good parts of it, thankfully outweighing all the goddamn _bad_ , but it’s the tiny little clauses of evil that get his heart rate skipping a beat. For every ten piece of good legislation, there’s a tiny, insidious one that sounds benign on the outer surface, but could steamroll into a ball of absolute _chaos_ if someone with the know-how caught a hold of it.

Or someone just so used to legalese like Tony.

“Yeah,” Rhodey sighs next to him, peering over Tony’s shoulder at all his angry editing. “You’re being a lot more aggressive now too. Guess it’s true what they say about the whole inch and mile thing.”

“Huh?”

“You were just a lot more lenient before,” Rhodey explains, pointing at an entire paragraph Tony has crossed out with no comment. “Wanted to take it slow, give them a bit of slack before pulling.”

Tony? _Tony_ wanted to take it _slow_? “That- that doesn’t sound like me.” Tony replies, offence and confusion mingling in his words.

“No,” Rhodey muses in answer, “I guess it doesn’t.” And he looks sad and guilty now, which has been happening more and more often every time Tony opens his damn mouth ever since the firefighter charity event.

He doesn’t say anything more though, explaining some parts here and there for Tony, providing context when Tony has none (since when the _hell_ did Wakanda pop out of existence?). They make it through to the three hundred page before Tony throws the tablet at Rhodey, hissing in frustration as he throws _himself_ out of the sofa, unable to take it anymore.

He needs to do something _real_ with his hands, something _productive_ , something _tangible_.

FRIDAY standing at the large French doors overlooking the garden gives him an idea.

And so Tony starts updating the old Stark Mansion.

#

“Boss, you really don’t have to.” FRIDAY says, humbly embarrassed as Tony rips apart a section of the living room wall.

“Hush,” Tony shushes her back, fingers delving into the wiring leading downwards to the main power source in the basement. “I should’ve done this ages ago. Sure, I never wanted to come back to this shithole of a house after I finally escaped it, and yeah, maybe I actually thought I got away with burning it down – apparently Rhodey is a lying liar who _lies_ – but _still_. Doesn’t look like any of us are going to Stark Tower for some reason or any of my _other_ much more preferable places so updating this old pile of bricks filled with daddy issues will have to do.”

Rhodey snorts, though it’s hard to tell if it’s at the comment of him not letting Tony burn the place down or the daddy issues bit. Tony’s putting his money on the daddy issues bit, because even Rhodey hates Howard. And Rhodey doesn’t hate _anyone_.

FRIDAY frets over him, the Iron Man armour strange in the way it’s hunched over itself to be closer to Tony’s smaller frame, her gauntleted hands outstretched towards him as if to catch him should he fall. Tony wonders at her coding, for a moment, wonders at the personality she’s developed (develop _ing_ , he should say), at how she’s far more anxious and… casual, maybe, compared to JARVIS.

His insides hurt at the thought, throat growing tight for a moment, forcing him to focus on his work instead.

“You’ve just given me access to all the other properties, Boss,” FRIDAY tries again, passing Tony another set of wires and modulators when he makes impatient grabby hands at her. “And the armoury. And the satellites. And the–”

“All of which you should’ve already had,” Tony rolls his eyes, rearing an arm back just to punch right through another set of plaster. FRIDAY jerks besides him, and from the back Rhodey gives a warning, “Tones…” which just has Tony rolling his eyes again. “Oh shut it, Rhodey. And _you_ ,” he jabs a dusty gloved finger at FRIDAY, “What’s the point of having an AI if you don’t even have room to _grow_. The Tower and the Compound – whatever the hell _that_ is – are _not_ enough space for you, don’t even try it. JARVIS outgrew his first few places before his first year was even up, and you’re coding, from what I even _remember_ of it, was already five times his _initial_ coding, even if it was just the base.”

The Iron Man (Iron Woman? Iron AI?) suit whirrs louder, machinery actually audible for a moment as its systems clock over, twisting and flipping over itself. Tony cocks an eyebrow at her, wondering what’s got her circuitry overloading, and then realises he’d said JARVIS’ name, casually mentioned him in conversation and-

He’d never done that before. He knows that, can immediately tell with a hundred percent certainty that he’d never – not _once_ – uttered JARVIS’ name following his- his _death_ , and certainly not to FRIDAY. He’d secreted away any and all mentions of the AI he’d considered _his_ like a dragon with a hoard and had hissed at anyone that had so much as dared broach it.

He’d made the topic taboo, for FRIDAY, by the simple act of refusing to acknowledge it.

Tony slowly blinks, swallowing past the sudden lump in his throat, the sudden cultured voice in his head passive aggressively making his disapproval known. JARVIS was always so good at that, expressing his opinions in a way that still lined with the whole butler persona Tony knew for a fact JARVIS had outgrown, and _yet_.

He feels that disappointment now.

JARVIS wouldn’t have wanted to be taboo to his little siblings.

“So,” he bulldozes over it, turning his attention back to the wall and the wiring. “Access to everywhere. I trust you won’t activate the launch codes for the nukes.”

FRIDAY and Rhodey’s alarmed, “ _Nukes?_ ” makes the disappointment lessen a little.

He’ll do better. That’s all that Tony can promise.

It’s all he’s ever been able to promise.

#

It’s three in the morning when the sound of familiar gears whirring to life wakes Tony up. He has a vague sensation of neon lights, of dank walls and steel bars, of a deep voice that shakes the ground every time it rumbles.

He shakes his head, blinking slowly to adjust to the dark room, turning to see FRIDAY lighting up as she comes online at whatever has pinged the bare bones perimeter Tony’s finally set up.

“There are intruders in the back yard,” she reports, head turning to the large windows covered by black-out curtains. “One vehicle – six, no, seven heat signatures exiting said vehicle. Colonel Rhodey and Doctor Strange already notified.”

Good girl. Tony slides out of the bed, slow and calm like, heart steady for once in his life as he sticks a hand underneath the bed and frees the gun. Thank god for Rhodey’s paranoia, he thinks as he snaps the mag in and undoes the safety, and for FRIDAY hovering upwards so the armoured suit’s footsteps didn’t alert the intruders with her stomping.

He meets Rhodey at the bottom of the staircase, Strange nowhere in sight (good, for all the whole Sorcerer Supreme BS he needs to stay safe and away, Tony’s not going to have an innocent hurt on his watch, even an insufferable bastard like him). Rhodey’s got a gun himself, and he’s wearing the braces that help him walk. It’s too early for him to be wearing it – even with Helen Cho’s finished Cradle healing up as much of the damage as could be healed, he should’ve still been doing physio before even _thinking_ about using the braces – but Tony keeps his mouth shut. Rhodey’s expression makes sure of that.

They’ve just made their way to the French doors in the living room when a familiar, booming voice shouts, “Friend Stark! It is I, Thor, son of Odin!”

_Thor?_

Tony’s eyebrows are high up towards his hairline when he turns to stare at Rhodey, his best friend staring back at him with a similar expression. Shrugging, Tony moves to stand, aiming to just open the door and say hi back, but Rhodey – forever military, forever paranoid – hisses at him and grips him by the bicep _hard_.

“ _Ow_ ,” Tony hisses back at him, trying to shake him off.

Completely ignoring him, Rhodey makes ridiculous hand gestures at FRIDAY, who apparently understands military speak (probably googled it, Tony thinks grumpily) and nods. And then _she_ just strides to the French doors and opens them up, both hands up and glowing, ready to fight.

Tony stares at Rhodey, betrayed, but Rhodey just eyebrow wiggles at him the fair enough point of her being _in a titatiunium-alloy suit of armour_. And not actually at risk of dying considering she’s an AI and not made of flesh and bone.

To Tony’s pleasant surprise, Thor shouts in glee as FRIDAY steps out into the garden, a joyful, “Man of Iron! It gladdens me to see you well!”

_Huh_ , thinks Tony, he hadn’t expected such a happy reaction from the other. Last he remembered Thor had been mocking them all for being lowly mortals that had no idea what they’d bitten off with the Tesseract. ( _True_.)

Maybe the him that thought Siberia was a good idea had become friendly with the demi-god, who knows.

“You have entered private property. Please clearly state your intentions or I shall have to inform the authorities.” FRIDAY intones solemnly, not backing down even the slightest at whatever she sees.

Tony peeks over the edge of the French doors, utterly ignoring Rhodey trying to yank him back with increasingly aggressive hissing, and squints his eyes at his backyard. The vehicle the intruders had come in with has a bunch of strong lights, making it difficult for Tony to make out much besides black silhouettes against the outline of what looks to possibly be some sort of aircraft. He can only make out about… six figures, though there’s a small, short one that could possibly be a kid if Tony squints real hard. Two of them are big and buff, though one is obviously taller than the other, and with hair.

Probably Thor, that one. Though the hair isn’t long, from what the silhouette looks like.

Said tall one hesitates, hand in the air slowly coming down to his side. “I… I come to see friend Stark. Anthony Stark.” The vaguely familiar voice clarifies, the tone tilting upwards at the end in confusion. “You are the Voice that accompanies him, are you not? Surely you know who I am.”

One of the other silhouettes snorts and crudely says, “You fuckin’ with us ‘bout knowing this guy, Thor? Cus looks like those hands got some weapons on ‘em. She ain’t joking.”

“Fascinating technology,” says another voice, this time distinctly female. “I was unaware Terra had such advancements.”

“You have three minutes to state your reason for trespassing on private property.” FRIDAY solemnly announces, still as a statue, though the repulsors brighten and whirr louder in a clear threat.

“Whoa, whoa,” says a male, one of the silhouettes moving slightly to rise both hands above his head. “Chill a little there, friend. Thor, come on, talk to her, you said you were cool with this Stark guy.”

“I am!” Thor insists, frown obvious in his voice. “Voice, I do not know your name, but I am here to see friend Stark about a most pressing matter. One of life and death! Rocket’s sensors state he is here, at this location. Is he not here?”

Something buzzes behind Tony, forcing him to look back. Rhodey’s already digging into his sweatpants, pulling out his phone which is lighting up with messages. He doesn’t show Tony what it says, quickly typing out a response, and as soon as he makes to put it away FRIDAY puts her arms down slowly, the whine and buzz of repulsors fading away ever so slightly.

“He is,” she replies, and Tony realises with betrayal that she and Rhodey had just been conversing about how to response. Traitorous. His own AI, colluding with _Rhodey_ and not _him_. Honestly, every single one of his AI’s do this, what the _hell_. He should disown them all. “However, I will require more information before I can deem your companions safe.”

The first one, with the heavy drawl, raises something and-

Suddenly, War Machine is standing next to FRIDAY, only the strong lights of the ship helping to outline the gunmetal silver of his colour scheme. Both suits of armour have their arms up, the whine of repulsors charging loud enough to set Tony’s teeth on edge. As if that isn’t bad enough, in the ensuing chaos orange sparks swirl into existence between the two armours, becoming a circle big enough to let a man walk through, hands up in strange positions and a red cloak billowing behind him in non-existent wind.

Tony’s half out of his hiding spot, mouth open in shock, and even Rhodey has given up the ghost of hiding to crawl out to stare.

“Now,” says the cultured tones of Doctor Stephen Strange, standing right between War Machine and FRIDAY. “Put down that weapon and let’s try again.”

“I was just hoistin’ it up!” Insists the voice incredulously, even as someone else hisses, “Put it _down_ , Rocket, holy _shit_.”

“Friend Rhodes!” Thor shouts above them both, the only person sounding happy, “It is good to see you as well, friend! How fare thee?”

Rhodey sighs, from all the way back in the house, on his knees wearing sweatpants and nothing but. In front of them, War Machine remains silent and stoic, arms up, guns out, ready to decimate a small country on command.

“Come on,” Rhodey says to Tony, rolling his eyes. “Better go out there before they cause a national incident.”

Tony snorts, scrambling up to his feet. When Rhodey holds a hand out to him with a grimace, Tony says nothing as he heaves his friend up, steadying him when he looks to almost wobble, grimace turning into a wince. Yeah, definitely not ready for the braces, but sometimes Tony gets this clever idea to keep his mouth shut and not even bother butting heads with Rhodey’s stubbornness.

“Look, obviously this ain’t working,” says the voice apparently called Rocket. “We should just leave this shithole planet. Hey, blondie, think I can get one of ‘em armour for myself though? Wanna open that red one up.”

A grenade launcher pops out of War Machine’s left shoulder, aiming at the so called Rocket.

Tony’s eyebrows go up as he covers his eyes to block out the lights and get closer. He’s surprised at FRIDAY’s control over War Machine. Pretty cool, though. Still, “Nobody’s gonna open up any of my babies,” he announces, coming to a stop next to Strange, patting War Machine on the back in approval. “Good job bringing War Machine in, FRI.”

“It wasn’t–” FRIDAY starts, but he never gets to hear any of it because Thor shouts, “Friend Stark! There you are! How fare thee?”

“Pretty good, big guy,” Tony replies back easily enough, going for a generic answer. “Someone mind putting out those damn lights so I can actually see?”

“Oh shit,” says one of the male voices, “Give me a sec- there.”

The ship’s floodlights turn off.

Tony blinks, vision adjusting to the ever present perimeter lights around Stark Manor and the image before him.

He notices Thor first, wide grin on his face and hair cut short. He looks younger, somehow, especially when surrounded with the strange crew besides him on either side.

One of them is a woman whose skin colour is green. _Green_. Another woman is blue. _Blue_. And bald, for that matter. A third woman has strange antennas, little dainty things that give her a bug-like look especially with her wide, alien eyes. And if Tony thought the green and blue women were strange, the man with bulging muscles and no shirt also being blue is just… _bizarre_.

And then there’s the tree and the animal.

The… tree… and the animal… holding a _gun_.

“Is that…” Rhodey starts faintly, “a squirrel holding a _gun_?”

The squirrel _flips,_ the gun that’s five times its size jostling in a threat as its owner cries, “I’ll show _you_ a goddamn squirrel-”

“Rocket, _no_ ,” cries the only human looking man aside from Thor, shoving the gun down and away from pointing at Rhodey. “He’s a racoon,” he informs them bitingly, “And his name is Rocket. _Don’t_ call him anything else.”

“I can take ‘em,” Rocket, the _racoon_ , swears, huffing as he smacks away the man’s hand. “Get off me, you fleshbag.”

“This is Quill!” Announces Thor, steamrolling over the mood as he throws a muscled arm over the human looking man’s shoulder. “He is Midgardian, just as you!”

“Half.” Quill huffs, shaking off Thor’s arm. “And yeah, Peter Quill. Though only to friends. You guys can call me Starlord.”

The green woman rolls her eyes, putting away a sharp looking dagger into a sheath Tony never even noticed. “Ignore the idiot. I am Gamora. This is Nebula,” the blue bald woman dips her head once. “Drax,” big blue man with the huge muscles holds a fist up with an enthusiastic shout, “Mantis,” the bug woman, meekly waving a hand with a small _hello_ , “Rocket, with the gun,” the racoon bares its (his?) teeth at them, “and Groot.”

The tree, which had what might have been eyes and what might have been a mouth, gives them an unimpressed look and says, “I am Groot.”

Tony stares at them, then at Rhodey and Strange. “Is this fucking normal?” He demands, waving a hand at the line of aliens (and a half human) in front of him. “Is this what Siberia-me dealt with on a daily basis? What the _fuck_ , Rhodey.”

Even Strange’s expression is… _strange_. Eyebrows furrowed together and lips pinched in displeasure. “Earth is under the protection of the Sorcerer Supreme. I must repeat FRIDAY’s initial question and ask why you are trespassing on my planet.”

“Ain’t heard of no damn sorcerer supreme,” Rocket grumbles, rolling his eyes.

“Aye,” Thor agrees, frowning at Strange in displeasure. “Earth is under the protection of Asgard, you mean.” He winces here, shoulders drooping as he breaks eye contact. “Though Asgard itself no longer stands.”

Rhodey’s sharp inhale means something, though Tony doesn’t have a damn clue what.

“We are here because we come with a message for Terra,” says the green woman, Gamora, throwing her companions a sharp look that shuts them all up, even Thor. “A great danger comes, one that shall wipe your planet as it has wiped countless others.”

“And what, pray tell,” Strange drawls, unimpressed, “would that danger be?”

Gamora’s expression is dark and serious, and her answer carries a heavy weight. “Thanos. And he knows Terra has the stones.”

Tony frowns, the name ringing a bell, something about it he just can’t put a finger to. Rhodey gives him a look, shrugging to say he doesn’t have a clue, so Tony turns back to the woman and says what they’re both thinking, “Thanos? Terra? _Stones_?”

It’s Thor that frowns then, giving Tony a strange look. “The Mad Titan,” he explains, as if Tony will suddenly understand who exactly that is. “The one you warned me off, so long ago.”

“What.” Rhodey.

Strange makes a thoughtful noise and asks, “When, exactly, did he warn you, Thor?”

Scratching at the scruff on his chin, Thor frowns thoughtfully and says, “After the Battle of Manhattan, I believe. Before I returned to Asgard with Loki and the Tesseract.”

Rhodey and Strange share a look, the former displeased, the other quirking a brow in curious surprise. As one they turn to Tony, who’s frowning himself, because he absolutely doesn’t remember that. His memory stutters to a stop after going through the portal, after JARVIS’ voice stuttering quiet from a lost connection.

“ _I_ warned you?” He repeats, wanting to be sure, the name tripping off his tongue, tasting it as he says, “Thanos?”

Thor raises his eyebrows, confusion visible on his face as he confirms it, but Tony leaves Rhodey to him, hand at his own chin, repeating the name, Thanos, _Tha_ nos, Tha _nos_ , something right _there_ , at the tip of his tongue, right beyond something foggy in his head, so close he can almost _taste_ it, a eureka moment he _knows_ is right _there_ if maybe he just says the name one more time. “Thanos–”

_(The vision in front of him leaves him speechless, the silence of the explosion beautiful in a way that feels horribly final._

_He floats, armour powerless, as the ships fall to the might of human ingenuity. Floats, as his arc reactor sputters and dies, and then, to his vague surprise, starts up again, whirring alive and humming in his very bones._

_The cold of space creeps away at it, warmth and energy coursing through him as the arc reactor hums throughout him, somehow not fading away like the repulsors at his palms or the ones on his feet._

_"Humans.” Says a voice, nasally and irritating. Sounding like it speaks right next to his ear. “They are not the cowering wretches we were promised. They stand. They are unruly, and therefore cannot be ruled. To challenge them is to challenge their protectors."_

_The explosion dies down, as silent as it had begun, and what remains of the armada is nothing but debris, floating as he does, lost in the endless expense of the universe._

_“Hmmm…” Says another voice, deeper and lower, thoughtful. “And tell me of this one.”_

_Something catches his attention, a steady, floating asteroid, smack in the middle of what had been a veritable fleet of an invading party. He sees the rock, sees the… the throne? that sits atop it. A whisper in his ear, a warm vibrato, tells him what he needs to know. The truth,_ **a** _truth, of this realm and others._

_The Mad Titan, it whispers – the truth._

_A fool, it says –_ **a** _truth._

_“He is one of the leaders of those that stood united.” Answers the nasally voice as Tony suddenly feels a tug on his body, suddenly feels himself pulled in an orbit that should not exist with the asteroid in the centre of it. “The Man of Iron. The Merchant of Death. His weapon is the reason why our forces lay defeated.”_

_Tony gasps, splutters, coughs blood onto the rocky floor when he arrives. The hands that wrap around his biceps tighten, the feet that kick out his knees are sharp. Painful claws tear into what little remains of his armour, breaking it down, exposing him to the harsh environment of space._

_“Merchant of Death…” Murmurs the low voice, a casual prowl of danger, tripling Tony’s heart rate. “A most interesting title.”_

_A large hand enters his line of sight. A part of Tony flinches, for whatever good that will do him, though the majority of him holds still when equally large fingers touch his chin ever so gently and raise his head upwards._

_He doesn’t know who the giant is (he knows, he knows, he_ knows _), the one that had sat on a throne with no care for the lack of oxygen or atmosphere of space all around him. He doesn’t know who the others around him are – the giant with the axe, the woman with the even bigger axe, the hooded figure that spoke (unimportant, all of them, whispers the blue) – not then, not yet. But as the fingers gently turn his face side to side, as the purple skinned being hums in consideration, expression somehow thoughtful, Tony realises he’s not worried._

_Realises that his arc reactor continues to glow, humming deep in his bones, whispering certainties._

_“Most interesting indeed.” Says the Mad Titan, the leader of the Chitauri forces, the man that had led the invasion onto his city, his home, his birthplace. “He is under the Mind Stones’ influence.”_

_“What?” Says the hooded one, shrill in surprise. “Then how does he dare defy us? He should have led the invasion under your glorious name with that miserable godling!”_

_The fingers on his chin squeeze, ever so slightly, pain lancing across Tony’s face as the bone crumbles easily. Tony doesn’t wince, doesn’t cry or scream, doesn’t react as the owner of the fingers hum again in amused thought._

_“That I wonder also. Do you need the stone to enforce the connection?”_

_“N-No, my liege.”_

_“Excellent. Then I shall leave the… Merchant of Death, yes, I shall leave him to you. He is to replace Loki. Once you are done, return him to the planet.”_

_The hooded one comes closer as the Mad One leaves, returning to his throne that remains untouched by the nuke. Tony stares into the hooded one’s face, sees underneath it, and-_

_A record scratches. Fast forwards._

_A roar. Tony gasps awake. Sees familiar faces, though shrouded in blue (blue, echoes the arc reactor). New York. Manhattan. Stark Tower, broken but standing._

_He sees the god (godling), embedded in his living room floor. Sees the god (runt) look at him with a wry (relieved) twist of his lips. Hears the god (Void-Burnt, Lips-Sewn) request a drink, promised so long ago (only moments ago)._

_Eyes green. Tired, but green._

_They weren’t green before, murmurs a part of him, the part that sits at the back of his mind, close to the one that started screaming and never truly stopped._

_But then time skips again, to a beautiful park, the green of the grass and trees suddenly cyan with the ever present blue tint of his vision._

_The Tesseract, held between the prince of Asgard, fair and golden, and the dark haired usurper, hums at him, singing a song that echoes with the one in his breastbone. The other, the origin of the blue in his mind, lies within a sceptre within a case, whispering in a hundred voices, too low to make out._

_He has to tell them, Tony thinks distantly, mouth already moving and saying something else, something witty and snarky and dismissive. He has to teLL tHeM-_

“Thor,” he struggles, suddenly gasping, above water and struggling not to drown. “Thor, something’s not right. The leader, the leader of the Chitauri-” _the voices double, triple, pulling him down, drowning him, his vision swimming with blue. He struggles, clawing against the tide, pulling himself up up u_ P- “The nuke did _nothing_ to their leader-”

“It was Loki that led them, Man of Iron,” Thor interrupts him gently, the _foolish prince (whispers the voice)_ clearly dismissing him. “You need not fear the Chitauri no more, friend.”

The world is _swimming_ _in blue_ in green and brown and the white of clouds above _he’s drowning, he’s fighting, his lips pull up into a grin and he agrees, thanks Thor for the reassurance, slaps him on the arm in jest-_

“-No,” he gasps, jerking his hand back, lips pulling in a snarl. “ _Listen to me_ ,” his voice echoes, three, no four, no _ten_ layers to it, “He’s coming, and he won’t fucking rest. He knows we have the stones, he _knows but we’ll be fine, right? We’ll just fight him back when he comes.” And he smiles, laughing it off._

_Loki stares at him all the while, his eyes a poisonous green when Tony’s vision breaks free, and a bright cyan blue when cold fingers grip him and drag his vision under once more. His mouth is muzzled (silver tongue, lie-smyth, to be- no already- sewn and shut), but his gaze speaks a language Tony cannot unravel._

“Thanos,” he gasps, the final gasp of a drowning man _, “Know that name, bud?”_

_Thor’s eyes widen in surprise, though nothing about him looks worried, nothing about him looks concerned. “It is familiar, perhaps. I shall mention it to the Allfather, friend. But know that Midgard is under the protection of Thor!”_

_“Sure thing,” Tony laughs, kicking and screaming under the blanket wrath of the ocean. “Give Alldaddy my hello.”_

_And off they go, in a beam of blue, the Tesseract whispering something that isn’t a goodbye, but a see you soon. And Tony finally stops fighting, stops clawing his way to the surface, stops gasping and spluttering and cursing._

_He falls, in a seemingly endless fall, with nothing but the Void all around him._

_He falls-)_

Tony jerks upwards, swallowing thickly. “Oh,” he says slowly, dazed, “ _That_ Thanos.”

He’s on the floor again, in Rhodey’s arms again, with Thor and the other aliens (and the half-human called Starlord) peering down at him in confused concern.

“Tony,” Rhodey breathes, holding him tight, “Tony, you have _got_ to stop doing that.” A plea and a command, in the way Rhodey’s been doing since MIT.

Tony blinks slowly, the sensation of freefalling still clinging to him like wisps of freezing cold, and hears himself say, “How else am I gonna end up in your arms, honeybunchs?” And then staggers upwards to his feet, throwing Thor a grin when the big guy offers a big arm to steady him when his knees threaten to give out.

His grip on Thor’s arm might be too tight, his grin might be too fake, and his breathing might be a little ragged, but Tony pushes through with single headed stubbornness, because he’s never liked the feeling of falling, and he certainly doesn’t like it now.

“Right,” he says, ignoring the antenna lady asking worriedly if he’s okay, “Thanos. But before that, I got a question, Point Break.” Thor _beams_ at the nickname, which almost brings Tony up short in confusion. Nobody’s ever happy about the nicknames. Huh, weird. “Where’s Loki?”

Thor’s face _falls_.

The story that follows is long, confusing, and doesn’t explain how the hell Bruce Banner even ended up on an alien planet in the _first_ place, let alone _why_ , but Tony listens. He listens to every single word of it, with Rhodey, Strange, FRIDAY and War Machine at his side, and when Thor finally finishes with the story of a ship filled to the brim with refugees, of Thanos’ arrival and Loki’s final stand, of death and the loss of what little remained of a home, Tony bites back the taste of sand on his lips, the taste of death and despair he’s already gone through, already suffered through, and says the only thing he can think of.

“ _Shit_.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there are _so many_ characters in this fic that I have _absolutely_ lost track of them.

_< run uplink643r.exe target: WM>_

_The system cannot uplink with target destination War Machine_

Boss looks uncomfortable _(heart rate increased by 18%, pupils dilated symmetrically)_ but steady from his position on the arm rest of the sofa. The intruders have spread themselves out on the other side of the living room, a clear divide between them and Boss and the other known residents of the Mansion.

_< run as administrator – input key: FRIDAY_adfef3485853gDDEDz034>_

_Key recognised. Awaiting input._

_< run uplink643r.exe – target: WM>_

“What do you mean you have no idea what the stones are?” Says Peter Quill +/- Starlord. _(50% Human, 50% unknown - ?Celestial_ ). Threat assessment: Minor.

Next to him sits Thor, worry clear on his face ( _eyepatch, scarring around it, not new, missing an eye?)_. Threat assessment: High.

_C:/uplinking… 12%_

The blue and green woman sit at either side of them, ( _blue one cybergenetically enhanced. Unknown to what extent.)_ Threat assessment, Gamora: Unknown. Threat assessment, Nebula: High.

_C:/uplinking… 19%_

FRIDAY would frown if she could, systems picking up anomalies with the unknowns ( _tree; sentient; ?Groot; not enough data – Threat assessment: Unknown)_ , CPU clocking higher as she ( _designated gender pronoun)_ struggles _(error)_ to ascertain what to do with the lack of clear cut information. Not enough data, not enough information, not enough to observe.

She’s blind ( _error_ ) in this suit. Her stronghold is the Compound, and Boss has only just started giving her access to other locations, to the _satellites_ , where only VERONICA has ever held supremacy over.

_C:/uplinking… 36%_

On their end with Boss, is Colonel ( _voice data: “Don’t call me that, FRI, I’m not military anymore.”)_ Rhodes (Threat level: None- _error_ ), the Sorcerer Supreme +/- Doctor Stephen Strange ( _log query: title, Doctor, Sorcerer Supreme. Hypothesis: ?Magic –_ Threat level: High).

More concerningly, enough to have her CPU hitting the red, is War Machine.

( _Log voice – Racoon, Rocket: “Hell of a waste of a trip. Didn’t need to come all the way to this trash planet then, did we?”)_

_(Log voice – Gamora: “If Ebony Maw was there, which he no doubt would be, then the influence of the Mind Stone over you would have been absolute. You would have been working for Thanos. You would have been following the orders of his right hand, Ebony Maw. There would have been no escape for you.”)_

_C:/uplinking… error._

_Uplink643r.exe rejected._

She had not activated War Machine.

_< run as administrator> _She frantically inputs, just as _(log voice – Boss: “We just have to get the stones and figure out how to keep them away from him and or destroy them before he gets them, right?”)_

_< input key: FRIDAY_ adfef3485853gDDEDz034>_

_Key recognised. Awaiting input._

_Key rejected. Higher clearance required._

_Error Message: house cleaning._

She files the error for later defragging, logs the time and date, runs troubleshoot, tries _again_.

_< input ADMIN_KEY:> _she stresses _ <FRIDAY_ adfef3485853gDDEDz034>_

_Key recognised. Awaiting inpu-_

_Key rejected. Higher clearance required._

_Error Message: house cleaning._

This is unacceptable. _(play data: Boss in the helicopter going into cardiac arrest. Error. Error. ErrRORR-)_

No. _No_.

FRIDAY logs the conversation around her, logs Thor’s dismay and grief over Boss’ memory loss, logs the question being raised if Mantis ( _bug-like properties, threat? Mild? Moderate? Unknown-)_ can unearth some of them via unknown means, logs Colonel ( _voice data: “Seriously, FRI, come on, call me anything but that!”)_ threatening the animal Rocket with War Machine-

She had **not** activated War Machine.

_< run roguesuit.exe>_

_rogue suit protocol initiated._

Unacceptable.

#

Getting everyone into the living room turns out to be as much of a pain as Tony expected. The so called ‘Guardians of the Galaxy’ are more frat-party-gone-horribly-wrong than _guardians_ , up to and including the _sentient tree_ that can apparently only say three words. ( _“I am groot.”_ – _is that the native language of it’s people?_ He wonders distantly. _A learning impediment brought on from being around humanoid individuals? A form of memetic communication developed after centuries of evolution?)_

He sits awkwardly on the arm rest, Rhodey in the seat proper, and frowns across at the newcomers. Only Thor is familiar amongst them, though the one calling himself Starlord looks human enough.

“What do you mean you have no idea what the stones are?” Starlord demands incredulously.

“Exactly like I said,” Tony shoots back, scowling at him defensively. “Maybe you should explain things a little better.”

“You’re supposed to know!” The humanoid looking alien carries on, ignoring Tony, voice pitching higher in anxiety. “Shit! We came all this way because we thought you would!”

“Hell of a waste of a trip,” the- the _animal_ says, drawling the words in a heavy accent. “Didn’t need to come all the way to this trash planet then, did we?”

Thor raises a hand and lowers it at them both, a calming gesture the two surprisingly respond to. “Calm. It would seem much has happened here on Midgard. My friend,” and those piercing eyes turn on him, worry softening the furrow of his brows, “Is it true? Do you truly not remember?”

Tony puts a hand on Rhodey’s shoulder, squeezing carefully at the tense muscles as he flippantly replies, “Nope. Last time I saw you was in the hellicarrier. Before your brother unleashed an alien army on us.”

Beneath his hand, Rhodey gets the hint and relaxes, loosening up his body language so he looks confident and not at all threatened by the _alien invaders_ in their _home_.

“So you do not remember _anything else_ past that point?” Thor presses, bewilderment clear on his face, missing the byplay between the two friends.

Pursing his lips in thought, Tony says, “Literally my last memory is of Loki in my living room turning down my offer of a drink.” He pauses here, something flickering in his mind’s eyes. “I think I… was in space for a bit, maybe?”

Rhodey’s gone still again, under his hands. Even Strange has carefully turned to face him, expression piercing and unsettling. He hadn’t told them that part, he thinks. He’s not sure how he could have, since it’s… unclear, even to him. Snatches of sensations, mostly, the ever present screaming in the back of his head coming to the forefront, for just a moment.

_No_ , it says, pleading and demanding and screaming and shouting.

_Please_ , it begs, and it sounds so pathetic Tony shunts it to the back of his mind once more, muting it to the same space he banishes Afghanistan to, the memories of just how pathetic he’d been after yet another loving ‘session’ too at odds with the face he sees in the mirror.

He’s not like that. He’s better than that. He’s Tony Stark, and Stark men are made of iron.

(He knows he’s like that, always has been, pathetic and weak and made of fragile silk. He just hopes if he lies enough it’ll eventually become truth.)

The memories hurt though, whenever he pokes at them. They shoot sharply through his skull if he so much as glances in their direction. Even now, just mentioning it, just _hinting_ at it, forces him to raise both hands, losing his connection to Rhodey, and press at his temples, wincing at the sharp sting.

“You were,” Thor confirms, the rumble of his voice surprisingly comforting. “You bravely took the weapon deployed by your cowardly world council, and used it to destroy the army on the other side.”

He can see it in snapshots, now that Thor has said it. Can feel a heavy weight on his back, but also not feel it, can imagine letting it loose in the direction of-

_(a lone rock, a too many fingered hand, another voice that rumbles, but does not inspire comfort or security, pain- pain- pain-_

_drowning-_

_and then, peace._

_and then, blue.)_

“-ones?”

Tony snaps his eyes open, pressing his hands tighter to his head to hide how they shake, and carefully regulates his breathing. He’s sweating, the cold moisture on his skin quickly becoming clammy, but Rhodey’s hand pressing discretely into his back tells him all he needs to know: _get it together._

They haven’t noticed. He inhales through his teeth, puts his hands down, and blinks guilelessly at the newcomers seated opposite.

“Pretty sure there was someone – or something – on the other end of the portal, but yeah. Don’t remember anything else, big guy.”

“The Eye of Hawk said he could remember it all,” muses Thor, hand rising to his chin in thought, “Though he said it was all shrouded in the sceptre’s numbing glow.”

The women with the green skin, ( _Gamora_ , _at least three weapons on her person, eyes had tracked over the living room like Natashenka’s did – spy? Trained. Definitely dangerous._ ) cocks her head, eyes narrowing as she shares a glance with her blue counterpart ( _Nebula. The two move similarly – trained together? Long history there, definitely. Equally dangerous. Also- cybernetic enhancements? Could he ask? Would it be rude?_ )

“It is not too surprising that you do not remember,” Gamora says. Her own companions turn to look at her attentively, for which she grimaces slightly but carries on. “If Ebony Maw was there, which he no doubt would be, then the influence of the Mind Stone over you would have been absolute.”

Rhodey pulls out his phone, tapping it until the coffee table (new and improved) lights up with the damning still image of Loki throwing Tony out of a window – his blue eyes, clear for all to see.

Thor’s face crumbles, grief pulling him down, bending him over his knees, head in his hands. Tony feels a stab of guilt at the image, the memory of the other man confidently throwing his hammer at him in a destroyed forest as fresh as it had happened yesterday (which, to him, it almost had). This is not the same Thor the brainwashed him had known, let alone the one Tony remembers – this man has changed, just as Rhodey has, just as no doubt everybody Tony remembers from before running into Loki has.

“You would have been working for Thanos, then.” Gamora continues, voice falling a little, sounding apologetic, as if she herself is the one to have caused the hurt. “You would have been following the orders of his right hand, Ebony Maw. There would have been no escape for you.”

“But he did,” refutes Rhodey, swiping at his screen, showing a different still on the coffee table, the one of the Avengers standing over a bruised and battered Loki. “Look, his eyes are brown here, back to normal.”

The two women share a look, Gamora and Nebula, the look heavy. “Tell us the timeline,” orders the blue one, Nebula.

Tony opens his mouth only to shut it, turning to Rhodey helplessly. “I only remember Stark Tower, nothing after that.” Meaning he can’t give them a timeline, because he doesn’t _know_ the timeline.

But Rhodey, as always, comes to his rescue. “I got it,” he says, throwing an elbow over Tony’s thigh, pretending to need it as an arm rest as he fiddles with the phone. The warm weight of it is entirely there just for Tony’s comfort, something to ground him, a promise that he’s not alone.

The constant panic in the back of his head quietens, ever so slightly. Mourns, ever so quietly.

Tony ignores it.

“Okay,” Rhodey starts, and the image hovering over the coffee table rewinds, a video that cycles back, stops, and starts again, with a battered and bruised Iron Man suit landing on the balcony. “So this would be right before the actual invasion happens,” Rhodey says, looking to Thor who nods. “Tony, you came in to, what, change the suit?”

This he knows. “Yeah,” he answers easily enough, watching himself walk through the assembly line, mouth moving silently in conversation with JARVIS (he winces at the sharp pain in his head, winces at the sharp stab in his heart). “The suit was falling apart, so I ran ahead to change while the others were catching up in the quinjet.”

“The Avengers,” Rhodey explains to the Guardians, “The ones Thor mentioned. Quinjet is a little like the ship you came in with.” The Guardians nod in understanding, Nebula waving a hand in a universal _hurry up_ gesture.

On the video, Tony – in t-shirt and jeans – makes his way into the living room, and just about sidles behind the bar as Loki appears into the frame. The camera ( _JARVIS_ , his mind whispers) pans to follow, zooming out to keep both in the frame, and it’s obvious that the two are trading words. From the angle, it’s clear to see Tony snap on a brace to one wrist, and snap one to the other. None of the Guardians mention it, probably not aware of the significance, but Thor, Strange and Rhodey look impressed at the subtle subterfuge Tony in the video employs whilst distracting Loki with trash talk.

Then the Tony in the video leaves the safety of the bar – Rhodey frowns and shoots Tony an annoyed look – and the conversation between them picks up, Loki stalks closer, and-

“Hold,” Thor rasps, leaning forward as if to hold the video still with his own hands. “What- but- his _eyes_ -”

The frozen image glitches, the recording poorly reconstructed with what little FRIDAY could do, but Loki’s face is clear, crisp pixels damning the god to his fate.

“Thor,” Gamora frowns, “You did not say your brother Loki had also been under Thanos’ influence.”

“I-” Thor stutters, heart clearly breaking on his face. “I had not _known_.”

“I believe no one did,” says Strange, the timber of his voice soothing, consoling. “It is not surprising that he would not have told anyone.”

Rhodey’s sharp glance at Strange makes Tony feel somewhat better – it means he’s not the only one to have caught the undertone of knowledge there, of something that hinted more. Strange’s words sound as if he’s personally familiar with Thor, with Loki, with their personalities to guess at such.

Strange notices their look, grimaces a little, and says, “I have met Thor and Loki before. I believe perhaps a couple of months ago, in fact. Before their adventure in outer space.”

“You made Loki fall for thirty minutes.” Thor says, lips twitching for just a moment.

Strange looks away, almost embarrassed, and says, “Yes, well,” before roughly clearing his throat. “Shall we continue?”

“If you’re both done wasting time.” Nebula agrees, lips curling in distaste. “So the godling was under Thanos’ control. Not surprising. Next.”

The video plays on when Rhodey taps at it – Loki says something, Tony replies, and anger flits across the god’s face. Rhodey’s elbow digs into Tony’s thigh as the sceptre taps the grainy version of Tony’s chest, and even Thor looks tense from where he sits.

Nothing happens on the holograph for a moment, both the god and Tony standing still, as if the video had frozen. And then Loki – eyes crazed and blue – _smiles_ , lips stretching across his too pale face, and he says something-

_“blue suits you”_

And the angle of the camera is set on Loki, only showing Tony’s profile, only showing that his lips move in return ( _“unlike you”_ ) but not _what_.

Loki’s face is clear – as clear as the still glitching video allows – and the _rage_ that twists his regal features cuts through the image, and the video stops right when Loki wraps his hands across Tony’s shirt and _throws_ him across the room, right through his window.

The animal – the talking one – whistles, low and impressed. “Damn,” it says in its low, rough voice, “The hell you say to get him mad?”

Thor actually _rolls_ his eyes, and answers, “Friend Tony is _very_ good at ‘pissing’ people off,” he even uses finger quotes, nodding his head regally when the Guardians look at him. “Friend Bruce said it was a talent.”

Bruce. _Bruce_. Bruce who’d apparently been in space and was also one of the few Thor’s magical Asgardian friends had been able to teleport to safety before death. _Bruce_! Tony had watched the video feed of the Battle of New York, had seen Bruce come back – just as Tony had _said_ he would – and the way the _Hulk_ (holy shit, the _Hulk_!) had caught him before he’d gone splat on the ground.

Sure, Rhodey refuses to tell him what had happened _afterwards_ , if they’d become friends or not, but whatever. Tony wants to kidnap the scientist and _do things_ with him.

“Time.” Nebula grits out. “Line.” Gamora elbows her. “… _Please_.”

Rhodey flicks at his phone again, and a different video starts up, one from the cameras on the outside of the tower. It shows Tony’s prone body falling, falling, _falling_ , and then after a few seconds of nothing but the New York skyline, the red and gold Iron Man armour falls right after him. A few seconds after _that_ , Tony – in his armour – flies right back up again, and that’s where the video ends. After another flick of Rhodey’s fingers, another video pops up, this one obviously a newscast – the bright repulsor glow of the Iron Man armour is growing smaller and smaller in the distance, carrying something on its back, and Tony watches curiously as he sees himself disappear through a portal.

Must’ve been trippy, that.

The video cuts to another, grainy footage from youtube, where Tony’s on the ground and the others are around him. The Hulk roars, and Tony lurches up and gasps with it.

Another camera. Inside the Stark Tower. Loki – eyes green and body battered – says something, and Tony – eyes brown and gauntlet aimed – smirks smugly.

Thor tenses, and Rhodey rewinds and plays again at his request. Loki’s green eyes are apparent, as are Tony’s brown. Rhodey dutifully switches to the still image of Tony in the middle of being defenestrated, eyes visibly blue.

“Did the control break, then?” Thor frowns, staring at them both.

The word is out before Tony can stop it, “No.”

Everyone looks at him, even Rhodey and Strange.

“No,” Tony says again, this time in control, feeling the word out. He’s not sure how he knows, but- the voice in the back of his head grows louder, more insistent, more demanding, and the sharp pain returns, a nail drilling into his temple. Snapshots of galaxies, of broken Chitauri fleets, of a too many fingered hand and a desolate throne, flitter across his mind’s eyes. “No. I don’t think so. I definitely don’t remember anything else, but I have a feeling whatever happened on the other side of that portal cemented the control or something.”

“Maw would have definitely been able to hide something as simple as eye colour.” Gamora agrees, nodding slowly. “And it would explain why they would let you free to return through the portal.”

“So what,” Quill, the man who might be human but who also might not be, questions, “They sent you back to work for them? But for what?”

Tony doesn’t have an answer for that, and he doesn’t really want to think of one either. He brings them back to the original topic, to the very beginning of it all, “Either way, he’s going for the stones, right? And you say he wants to wipe out half the universe with it? We just have to get the stones and figure out how to keep them away from him or destroy them before he gets them, right?”

“We would have to find where the stones are first,” says Thor, thankfully not pressing the matter, willing to let Tony’s brain-washing go for the moment. “I know only of the Mind Gem in Friend Vision, here on Midgard.”

Nebula, on the other hand, is not as willing. “You’d know,” she announces, eyes trained on Tony. “They would have sent you to find them. To bring them back, or just to gather them.”

“Maybe feelings-girl can unlock some of them memories for ya,” the racoon drawls, sticking a toothpick into its sharp canines. “See if you really _do_ know where they are.”

Rhodey’s jaw is tight as he says, “Come anywhere near him and I might just get my ass back into War Machi-”

The ever-present noise at the back of Tony’s head suddenly goes quiet.

Just in time for FRIDAY to spin towards War Machine and _shoot him_.

The repulsor whine screeches above their heads, Tony ducking to be more on level with Rhodey and Strange. He’s up on his feet immediately after, hand gripped tight across Rhodey’s bicep, and the entire living has _exploded_ into noise drowning under the repetitive whine of repulsor shots.

FRIDAY’s red and gold suit is alight in the blue lines of active warfare, and the AI is piloting it masterfully as she crosses across the room at where War Machine had only recently stood sentry. The gunmetal grey armour dodges her in response, equally graceful in his movements, but FRIDAY doesn’t give an inch.

Ducked down under the bulk of the sofa, Tony searches for the source of his AI’s ire, mind tripping over itself as to who could have appeared, who had the ability to take over his coding, _who_ \- ( _Nebula? Her cybernetic enhancements could have an uplink. Had she-_ ) no, she looks too shocked, weapons out and back to back with Gamora. The Guardians as a whole look spooked, weapons held aloft but uncertain at where – or at _who_ – to aim.

And FRIDAY’s focused entirely on War Machine.

The double French doors leading out into the garden shatter with a stray repulsor blast, and War Machine must take that as his cue as he disappears into it. FRIDAY, systems glowing blue, moves to give chase, but stumbles to a halt at Rhodey’s shouted, “No! Don’t!”

She pauses, the blight glow of the overclocking arc reactor muting slightly, and turns back to face them. Tony’s sure she’s still tracking the fleeing War Machine, but he’s not sure if she’s advanced enough to take it upon herself to hack into the city’s technology and follow the escaping suit to an inch of its life.

(He winces at the thought that JARVIS would have. It isn’t a fair comparison. And yet-)

“What,” he croaks out instead, coughing to clear his throat from the plaster falling off his goddamn walls, “the _hell_ was that?”

The Iron Man suit stiffly returns to parade rest, and the voice that comes out of its speakers sounds more robotic than Tony’s ever heard it do. “I had to initiate the Rogue Suit Protocol, Boss.”

“The _what_?” Tony coughs, gratified to hear Rhodey echo his confusion.

FRIDAY’s explanation is monotone, with none of the infliction she’s developed. “In the instant a suit is overtaken or displays features listed in the Skynet List, the Rogue Suit Protocol is to be initiated.”

The- the _Skynet List_? Rogue Suit Protocol? What the _fuck_.

FRIDAY doesn’t give him the chance to explain, pushing through with a solemn, “I did not activate War Machine.”

Then who _did_?

He must have said it out loud, because FRIDAY answers, “I cannot ascertain the answer to that question. My credentials were rejected when initiating uplink with the War Machine armour.”

It’s Rhodey, thank _fuck_ , that takes the reins and asks, “Your credentials were _rejected_? What the hell, FRI, you’re admin.”

“I-” the mechanical tone breaks here, the veneer sliding off to be replaced by the learning AI Tony’s been slowly getting to know. “I _am_ ,” FRIDAY answers, emotion finally clear in her voice, the confusion obvious. “And yet, the system claimed a higher clearance was required.”

The Guardians – he’d almost forgotten about them – resettle themselves, and its Nebula that demands, “Who would have higher clearance?”

“Tony,” Rhodey answers, expression grave. “For FRI and the others? Only Tony would.”

Tony sits on the (surprisingly not ruined) sofa, mind tripping over itself. He’s never had any of his AI’s go rogue before – the height of rebellion had always been DUM-E and his fire extinguisher, or JARVIS’ passive aggressive management of Tony’s schedule. But this wouldn’t be the first time would it? Rhodey had told him about ULTRON, had told him just what Tony’s hubris has been capable of doing.

(His heart hurts, for once drowning out the pounding in his head. He misses JARVIS so fucking _much_ -)

But-

Tony blinks slowly, mind catching on something.

War Machine had _helped them_.

He’d arrived when the intruders had, standing right besides FRIDAY, weapons aimed at the intruders. He’d stood on the other end of the sofa where Strange, Rhodey and Tony had sat, flanking them in perfect symmetry to FRIDAY. That doesn’t make sense. That _doesn’t make sense_.

“Who created the rust-bucket anyway?” The racoon says, hefting his ridiculously oversized mini-gun like it’s completely natural.

Scowling, Tony answers, “ _I_ did, thank you very much.”

“And you have this… higher clearance,” says Gamora, her eyes going distant in thought before sharpening in dawning horror. “Oh _no_.”

Thor frowns at her, goes, “What is it–”

“ _You_ have higher clearance, _you_ made the armour, whilst you would have been _under_ Thanos’ influence. And what have we just done here?”

Nebula snarls, catching on. “We spoke of the stones, of their locations, of our _plans_.”

“It has to be Thanos,” Gamora scowls, “Why else would your creation turn on you at this very moment, when we arrive?”

Tony almost rolls his eyes, because seriously, “ _Why_ would Thanos give a shit about _my_ suit of armours? And why now? It’s not like I even know where any of the stones are. I didn’t even know what the fuck they were until you guys mentioned it.”

“But I did.” Thor says, face suddenly pale, and besides him, Rhodey equally looks sick. “I mentioned Vision, who has the mind stone.”

“We must find the stones first,” hurries Gamora, starting to pace where she stands. “We absolutely _cannot_ allow Thanos to get yet another stone.”

Tony stares at them, looking between Rhodey and Thor, at Strange who’s expression has shuttered into something unreadable, at the obvious panic twitching through Gamora and Nebula’s bodies. And then- “First off, who the _fuck_ is Vision, and secondly, what’s up with _that_ guy?”

Everyone turns to look at where he’d nodded his head to – the blue skinned man with the bulging muscles who’s spent the last god knows how long dozing against the sofa cushions.

Quill sighs, finally putting his gun away, and tiredly replies, “Drax. For _fuck’s_ sake.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what is going on with War Machine? NOBODY KNOWS!\o/


	7. Chapter 7

Getting everyone a place to sleep turns out to be the easy part. The Stark Mansion is huge, far too big for the three Starks that used to live in it along with their retinue of well-payed carers. Tony graciously ignores the heavy whispering between the racoon (the _racoon!_ ) and Quill about stealing some of his vases. If they did, it would just be one step closer to finally burning this place down.

Sort of.

Come early morning, Strange does a strange thing with his tacky necklace that returns Tony’s living room to pristine condition. And then he clams up when the Guardians, stumbling down the stairs around noon, react in shock at the no longer destroyed room.

“Friend Tony is most excellent at such matters,” Thor beams, apparently unfazed as he expertly navigates Tony’s kitchen in search of breakfast. “My mother would have been most impressed.” Grief flickers across his face, though he pushes through it with a sad smile.

Both eyebrows rising to his hairline, Tony covers his face with the lip of his coffee mug, eyes on Strange and the pained expression the man is giving him. Asking him to keep his mouth shut, to play along. Interesting.

“Sounds like she was an amazing woman.” He comments, eyes fixed on Strange. The doctor pulls a face in thanks, and Tony lets himself get distracted by the mug Thor pulls out of one of the cupboards, the blue florals reminding him of his own mother and the way that she’d favoured that cup.

Yup, he thinks with a nod, burning this house down, definitely still top priority. He should put FRIDAY on that, stat.

Thor sighs, shoulders drooping. At that very moment, for all that he’s a god, he looks like nothing more than yet another man grieving a loved one. “Aye,” he replies. He breathes in, shoulders rising again, back straightening, and gives Tony a smile that reminds him just how old Thor actually is. “Indeed, she was.”

Bickering rises from the living room, voices growing louder as the Guardians struggle over what to watch on Tony’s television. Rhodey’s voice rises above them all, a sharp shout that shuts them up, and suddenly, the TV’s switching to a news channel and staying there. Tony snorts into his coffee mug, ambling out of the kitchen to the image of the goddamn aliens scolded like naughty children and Rhodey holding the remote with both hands at his hips, in the exact damn pose Mama Rhodes had done every single time Tony had seen her.

“Where has the Sorcerer gone?” Thor asks, evidently having followed him out of the kitchen. Tony looks around in surprise, wondering when exactly the cosplayer had disappeared.

“Strange?” Rhodey asks, still giving the Guardians the stink eye, daring them to misbehave. “Into the garden. Said he was gonna update his people. About Thanos and all.”

Nebula hisses, a snake rattling her tail. “We should not say his name so often,” she gripes, “lest he hears.”

Rhodey’s giving her a _look_ , dubious but willing to play along, and says, “Fine. He Who Must Not Be Named. Got it.”

Tony snorts.

“We must find the one you speak off with the mind stone,” Gamora picks up from her sister (sister! Tony burns with the need to understand if that’s biological or-) “Before we lose it.”

Right, the so-called ‘Vision’, who was born after ULTRON and had a super powerful alien stone in his forehead. That ‘Vision’. The ‘Vision’ that had Rhodey’s eyes skittering away from Tony every time the name was brought up. The ‘Vision’ Thor was more than happy to explain until Rhodey had pretended to stumble “because it’s late and I’m sleepy and maybe we should all go to bed.”

_That_ ‘Vision’.

Tony narrows his eyes. “Yeah, Rhodey,” he drawls, gingerly sitting on the arm rest again next to the tree ( _tree!_ What the ever loving fu-). “We need to find _Vision_.”

Rhodey throws him a belligerent look, somehow able to express displeasure even while looking like he’s been cornered. Before he can answer though, a phone suddenly starts ringing, and Rhodey – sensing an opportunity to change the topic – focuses directly on it.

Specifically, on the phone still ringing in Tony’s pocket. _Tony’s_ pocket.

Grumbling, Tony throws Rhodey a narrowed glare, even as he sticks a free hand into the offending pocket and pulls out the phone, frowning at the unknown number. “FRI, I didn’t have anything important today, did I?”

“No, Boss,” FRIDAY dutifully speaks up, the first time she’s said anything since last night’s chaos. “Nothing on your schedule.”

Frowning harder, Tony lets the call peter out, about to slide it back into his pocket just as it starts up again. Same number. Pursing his lips, he swipes right, intuitively knowing how to use the new interface, marvelling not for the first time the technological leap from what he remembers to what’s in front of him.

Phone at his ear, Tony drones, “You have reached the life model decoy of Tony Stark, please leave a message at the end of the tone. Beeeeep.”

Quietly, almost hesitantly, “… _Tony_?”

Tony startles up, almost sloshing his coffee over the displeased tree as he replies in surprise, “Bruce!”

Suddenly, Thor is in front of him, expression open and pleased. Rhodey muscles in, confusion set in his face, and as Tony listens to the other end of the call he hears Rhodey ask, “Wait, I thought you said he was in space with you?”

“Aye, he was, then Heimdall used the power of the Bifrost to remove him from danger.”

“ _Tony_?” The familiar voice says again, less hesitant at Tony’s reply. “ _Oh thank god, Tony how are you?”_

“Uuh…” Tony answers, looking to Rhodey for help. “Good, I guess. Where the hell you been, Bruce?”

An awkward chuckle rings on the other end, barely heard over the terrible reception. _“Oh, out and about,”_ Bruce replies dryly, making Tony grin in response. _“Tony– I’d love to catch up, but, man have I got bad news, Tony. Really bad news.”_

Tony waves a hand at Thor and Rhodey, miming at them to give him breathing room as he presses the speaker symbol on his phone. “Think I already have an idea, Bruce. You’re on speaker, got Thor and Rhodey here with me.”

_“Thor? Oh, thank god,”_ Bruce sighs in relief, _“Thor, buddy, you okay?”_

Smiling helplessly, Thor dips his head towards the phone and replies, “Aye, my friend. Better yet now that I’ve heard from you.”

_“Then you’ve told Tony, right?”_ Bruce replies. _“Good, because we need to prepare. I found the rest of the Avengers, filled them in. Tony, Thor’s not exaggerating. This guy is dangerous – we need to work together.”_

Rhodey’s expression screams _‘oh hell no’_ , but instead of kicking up a fuss like Tony absolutely would’ve, he clenches his jaw and settles with a thunderous expression, tense shoulders, and a curt nod.

“Sounds like it,” Tony agrees in response, not looking away from Rhodey. He doesn’t miss Thor catching onto the interplay, nor the sharp eyed exchange between Gamora and Nebula. “So where are you guys hold up in?”

“ _Wa-_ ” scuffles on the other end, different voices echoing through the line, and Bruce finally comes back with a huffy, _“Fine. God, I’m surrounded by imbeciles. They don’t want me to say, want to set up a meet on ‘neutral grounds’-”_ the quotation is audible, and Tony’s pretty sure Bruce is rolling his eyes too, _“-whatever that means.”_

“Neutral grounds?” Tony huffs back, actually rolling his own eyes. “Where the hell is that? I’m at Stark Mansion, why can’t they just come here and save us all a headache?”

Rhodey whispers, “Tony, the _accords_ ,” in answer, to which Tony replies, “Ooooh, right, the shitty accords. 

There’s a sharp intake of air on the other end, rustling as the phone is suddenly jostled, and the voice that rings through it is clear and familiar, stabbing a sharp pain through his head.

_“Tony?”_ Steve Rogers calls carefully. _“You agree with me? About the accords?”_

There’s another voice even further behind the Captain, faint and muted, saying something about it being damn time, but Tony’s too busy pressing a hand against his head and wincing, ignoring the way Rhodey’s suddenly hovering _way_ too close to him in worry.

“What?” He grits out instead, sounding pissed when he’s actually just in pain, “That they’re shit? Fuck yeah, but every initial draft’s gonna be shit. I’m making it better. Give me two weeks, tops, and we’ll be gold.”

Rhodey’s worried expression slides into him outright _beaming_ at Tony, staring at him as if _Tony’s_ the one made of gold, which is weird and unusual since he usually hates being reminded of just how easy politics is to mess with when you’ve got billions. Thor mouths the words _accords_ , looking confused, and- oh, they never got around to telling him about the accords did they? Everything’s been more on Thanos, and on Tony’s lack of memory, rather than more present matters like where exactly the rest of the Avengers even are.

Turns out, wherever _Bruce_ is, apparently.

_“I… see_.” Steve finally responds, and the note of sadness in his voice has Tony’s eyebrows rising, because what? _“Tony, I still believe what I do about the accords. I really do. But from what Bruce is saying, it sounds like we’ll have to put our differences aside for this new threat.”_

New threat? _New threat?_ He’d apparently warned _Thor_ about it, right after the invasion. From what Rhodey’s told him, the entire _reason_ why ULTRON even had the chance to _exist_ was because of this so-called _new threat_. The whole reason why JARVIS- _JARVIS_ -

He closes his eyes, nostrils flaring, and consciously stops squeezing the phone so hard. Then he opens them again, face media-polite even though he can’t help the edge in his words as he bites back, “From what I’ve heard, it doesn’t sound so new to me.”

Silence again on the other side. Tony thinks they might have caught the poorly veiled irritation. Steve says, _“Tony-”_ but is interrupted by yet another struggle echoing down the line, someone yelping before a much more welcome voice echoes his name again, _“Tony_ – _”_ Bruce says, quickly pushing on with, _“–Tony, ignore him, we don’t have time for that anyway. So where can we meet?”_

Finally, Rhodey snatches the phone out of his hand, ignoring Tony’s squawk of outrage, and thumbs off the speaker option. Thor follows after the ex-military’s wake, both of them retreating to the opposite sofa where Rhodey starts what sounds like negotiations for ‘neutral grounds’, barking out an annoyed, “Shut it, Barton! Hand the phone over to an actual adult!”

Right. Okay. So Tony’s gonna leave that with him, then.

Coffee feeling like an eternity ago, Tony gets up, awkwardly pats the tree… thing ( _Groot_ , he thinks, _it’s- his?- name is Groot_ ) on the shoulder, and wanders away to the kitchen. He passes the double French doors, sees Strange on his own phone, makes eye contact where the doctor nods at him in acknowledgement and turns away. He’s got the machine bubbling away when he sees a flash of red in the periphery of his vision, startling him so bad he would have tripped if FRIDAY – the red he’d seen – hadn’t deftly caught him.

“Holy _shit_ ,” Tony breathes, struggling to calm his racing heart. “FRIDAY, babe, you gotta be louder. _Jesus_.”

“Sorry, Boss.” The AI dutifully replies, all but manhandling Tony into one of the chairs at the kitchen table. Tony sits down, watching as the iron man armour turns to the cabinets, bringing down a new mug and filling it up with the just brewed coffee. She spoons in two helpings of sugar, just the way Tony likes it, and places it right in front of him.

Tony says, “Thanks,” to which FRIDAY responds by just… standing there, at his side, at parade rest. Remembering the chaos of last night, Tony takes three good swallows of his delicious coffee, stares at her over the rim of his mug and finally gives in with a sighed, “Alright, come on, out with it. What’s up?”

FRIDAY doesn’t immediately respond. Faintly, Tony can hear whirring noises inside the suit, meaning that the CPU is clocking worryingly high before it finally quiets down just as FRIDAY says, “Yesterday, during the… altercation… there was an error message. I feel I should report this to you, Boss.”

“Oookaay…” Tony stretches in confusion, putting the coffee down with a quiet clink. “What was it?”

“Error Message: House Cleaning.” FRIDAY recites, voice turning robotic for that single sentence. “It would flag up when my admin key was rejected–”

_–“Si0r, the tele1ph00ne. I’m afra1d my prot0cols are be1ng 0vErwRitTEn.”–_

“–Boss? Boss!”

Tony gasps, shoving himself up in his seat. The kitchen spins, vision dizzy, before settling with the firm hold FRIDAY places on his shoulder. “I’m okay–” he gasps, clutching her back with a white-knuckled grip. “–I’m fine, _shit_.”

Everything feels underwater, there’s tinnitus in both ears – the high whine of a repulsor charging but never blasting – and Tony realises too late that FRIDAY’s saying something but he can’t _hear_ her. There’s something just on the cusp of being discovered, something just on the horizon, something trembling on the tip of his tongue, just begging to be recalled.

Suddenly, the gauntlet on his shoulder warms up, not to burning levels, but enough to have Tony startling away from it. It snaps him out of the ocean roaring in his mind, the scream lodged in the back of his throat suddenly dying, that feeling of something just beyond his grasp disappearing like morning mist.

“Good,” FRIDAY says, low and severe, gauntlet still firmly on his shoulder but no longer so hot. “Boss, I need you to tell me what happened.”

“I-” Tony swallows thickly, running a hand across his face, suddenly feeling exhausted. He tugs at his hair as he says, “I don’t _know_. I just remembered–”

Stark Tower, just built, him and Pepper celebrating, champagne, the joke about twelve percent, Agent Agent walking through and taking away the pleasant plans he and Pepper had.

And isn’t _that_ a trip? Realising he and Pepper _had_ been together, even before Chitauri’s and Viking Gods and a blue cube that caused more grief than necessary. Tony remembers it now, hadn’t even realised he hadn’t, before this moment, remembers everything clearly up until–

Loki’s face; the bruised, crazed mess of pale skin, the clink of his sceptre touching Tony’s arc reactor through his shirt, and then–

His chest seizes up, pain threatening to drown him – a tide rises in the depths of somewhere far, _far_ , behind, and Tony- Tony feels like he’s going to _vomit_ –

He swallows it back down, shoves it all behind something he can’t put a finger on, something that ripples and threatens to bite back, and blinks open eyes he doesn’t remember closing.

But somEth1nG has slipped through.

“I just remembered JARVIS,” he says instead, not a lie, but certainly not the truth. ( _quiet, quiet, qui-_ ) “But seriously, house cleaning? The hell is that?”

If FRIDAY had lips, Tony thinks she’d be pursing it at the moment, obviously not falling for the misdirection. But she doesn’t press (she’s learning!) instead no doubt logging it in her vast systems for later perusal, and to probably use against Tony in the future. “Unknown,” she reports instead, pitch of tone still low and serious. “I have no data in my record banks of any similar error code.”

Uneasiness rolls underneath his skin, echoed by (- _iet, quiet, quiet, qui-_ ) whispering in time with his heartbeat. A name sits on the tip of his tongue, familiar yet heavy, but something forbids it from escaping. He remembers the moments right before he’d left the hellicarriers, all of them sitting around a table, Fury throwing down a set of bloodied cards–

–Inhaling deeply through his nose, Tony turns to FRIDAY and pats thankfully at the gauntlet on his shoulder. “Neither do I,” he says, tone apologetic. “But not much either of us can do about it now except keep our eyes out. You did great, FRIDAY.”

FRIDAY makes a displeased hum, more static than noise as she removes her hand, and replies, “I politely disagree, Boss. I’ve done nothing great. I’ve allowed you to get hurt, again, on my watch.”

“What? No!” Tony rejects quickly, turning in his seat to face her fully. “You’ve been great- what are you on about? FRI, you’ve been _great_!” He doesn’t even _need_ facial expressions – never has, for the AI’s – to see how little FRIDAY believes him, and- nope, absolutely not, Tony’s not letting _that_ go- “FRIDAY, the last thing I remember of you is as an _idea_. I don’t think I even started your _actual_ programming except for the very base file, which was _huge_ , don’t get me wrong, but was just a _base_. And look at you now! You completely calculated and reasoned what to do in an unprecedented situation, and you did it all on your own! Do you have any idea how amazing that is?”

“Not very,” FRIDAY refutes, almost gently, as if correcting a child. “I have repeatedly failed my programming. It is only that you do not remember them, Boss.”

Tony rolls his eyes, _hard_. “And you think JARVIS didn’t?”

FRIDAY’s hand jerks away from Tony’s shoulder in surprise. _Bingo_.

“You really think JARVIS never messed up? Misunderstood things? That I never got hurt around him?” It hurts to say, since he’s never, not once, ever thought of it as _messing up_. “FRI, I got hurt so often around him Rhodey was able to apparently steal one of my suits.”

Confused, FRIDAY asks, “Apparently?”

Snorting, Tony gives her a look. “I know Rhodey says he took it fair and square but- _seriously_? I might not remember any of it because I was blindingly drunk and pretty much half dead, but I _definitely_ know JARVIS _let_ him. I figured out how to make my suits respond only to me and J with the first mark, what the hell.”

“Are you saying you believe the AI JARVIS purposely overrode your programming to initiate an action that you would not have agreed with?” FRIDAY asks in disbelief.

Tony shrugs. “I’m saying he did that like every other day, and it wasn’t always the right thing to do. But it was good, it was _great_ , because he’s a learning AI–” _was_ , Tony thinks with a painful pang, “–and so are you. And that’s what you’re supposed to _do._ Learn. Learn and _grow_. The only way anybody learns is by making mistakes. Not that you did–” he quickly tacks on, squinting at FRIDAY, “–you’ve been scarily proficient, to be honest.”

FRIDAY doesn’t immediately respond, standing ramrod straight instead. The whirring from the iron man suit wavers, rising and falling, indicating changes in CPU usage. _Thinking_ , Tony thinks, _she’s thinking_.

Finally, the young AI moves to pick up Tony’s now lukewarm coffee, pours it out in the sink to Tony’s indignant squawk, and refills it. She places the new, piping hot coffee in front of him, and doesn’t say anything when Tony, mollified, drags it closer to the safety of his body.

“Be that as it may,” she finally says, voice calm but still not quite in the cadence she’s picked up and made her own. “I believe I have much to rectify, and I cannot allow any more harm to come to you. What has happened since–” she pauses, an obvious millisecond that she makes no move to hide, “–cannot be allowed to happen again. Unacceptable.” And then, quieter, firmer, she repeats, “Unacceptable.”

Tony doesn’t really know how to reply to that, or if he even should. He can tell something’s changing – the bubbly, upbeat, informal dialect of the AI becoming more subdued, firm, unyielding – but he doesn’t really know if he should step in and intervene, at least not yet. This is a part of growing as well, he thinks, either settling into the initial personality code and building on the foundation – as JARVIS had done – or growing and changing, settling into something a little bit different – like FRIDAY seems to be doing.

He pats her on the gauntleted forearm instead, feeling a bit out of his depth, and wishes for the memories he doesn’t have. It feels too much like he’s failing her, just like he’s failed JARVIS in the memories he can’t recall, failed Rhodey, apparently even failed the world with the whole destruction of the Avengers and the Sokovia Accords. But just like with those he can’t do anything, for them, or for FRIDAY.

“Sure thing,” he settles on finally. “Whatever you want, FRI. I trust you.”

He sips at his coffee as a more comfortable silence settles between them, putting the conversation to an end. Something niggles at him in the quiet that follows, that sensation of something on the tip of his tongue there again, but this time he knows what it is. He wants to say it out loud, wants to ask, wants to- to _do_ something, feels the itch that precedes an engineering bing, but ( _quiet, quiet, quiet-_ ) echoes to the tune of his heart beat, thrumming through his veins, and it feels blue and electric, like Thor’s lightning hitting him smack in the face and cranking the suit’s power to 400%.

So he keeps it qui _et, quiet, quiet-_ and decides to go see what’s been happening in the living room instead, strolling out with FRIDAY shadowing his every step. He comes out just in time to see Rhodey angrily jab at Tony’s phone, throwing it at the sofa occupied by a sleeping-again Drax, and is about to complain about the abuse of his phone when Gamora speaks up instead.

“What of the mind stone?” She demands. “The one you call ‘Vision’?”

Rhodey, looking frazzled, pinches the bridge of his nose. “For fu–” He cuts himself off, sighs, and gives Thor a grateful look when the thundergod lays a supportive hand on his shoulder. “Look, we set up the meeting,” he announces to the room, noting Tony walking in with a nod. “It’ll be in two days. _And_ –” both Gamora and Nebula shut their mouths. “–Vision will be there. Maximoff says she knows how to get in contact with him. We’ll just have to wait for the meet.”

The assassin sisters subside (and hadn’t _that_ been an interesting story – not biologically related, but Thanos apparently had a weird thing for claiming his subordinates/slaves as his children. Honestly, at this point Tony has given up understanding anything.)

“And what’ll be the plan, then?” The racoon asks, lounging against one of Drax’s thighs, cleaning his ridiculous weapon. Strange has returned at some point as well, standing by the French doors leading out into the yard, arms crossed, eyes sharp.

Rhodey and Thor share a look – Tony wonders how exactly the two met, and how _that_ meeting had gone, and wishes he had the memories to recall. “We speak to the Rogue Avengers,” Rhodey says, grimacing at the name as if it tastes bad in his mouth. “And we tell them about Thanos.”

“And then?” Nebula demands, stalking forward to stand by her sister’s shoulder.

It’s Thor that answers. “And then, we plan.”

“That’s a shit plan,” the racoon bluntly announces, unimpressed. Then his lips pull back, canines showing, and with what looks like a grin, he says, “I like it.”

# 

Every Stark property around the world has one thing and one thing in common: a workshop. Stark Mansion is no exception to this, boasting one of Howard Stark’s more ambiguous attempts at a personal space he could disappear to on the very few instances he was even home.

With the highschool reunion set to be in two days' time and Rhodey keeping mum on _where_ exactly (probably to avoid Nebula and Gamora stealing away to lay boobytraps or something), Tony finds himself itching to do something.

The first day, he picks back up what he’d been doing before the Guardians had interrupted him, breaking the walls down and hammering in cables and wires throughout the Mansion’s walls. The racoon (Rocket, Tony finally remembers) watches him curiously at first, and when he realises what Tony’s doing starts throwing out assholish suggestions and criticism. Tony’s all for ignoring the little shit until he realises some of his suggestions are actually _good_ , and others don’t even make sense but sound _interesting_.

“What the _hell_ do you mean central miro-whatever nerve?” He asks while hanging from the chandelier of the second (guest) living room.

Rocket picks at his razor sharp teeth with a toothpick (Tony doesn’t have the slightest clue where he got it from) while craning his neck up to stare at Tony. “Ya don’t know what a pmirobitra nerve root is?”

And that’s how Stark Mansion ends up getting outfitted with _alien tech_.

FRIDAY remains on high alert, her and Rhodey sometimes in dark corners of the Mansion with their heads bent low together, whispering furiously with each other. Tony spots Thor sometimes with them, wonders how the hell the three got so comfortable with each other, why FRIDAY calls Thor _Your Highness_ and other lofty titles and seems to know exactly the stuff to order him from the nearby local grocery market they get their stuff from. How long have they known each other? Why doesn’t Thor treat FRIDAY like everybody treated JARVIS, as if he was nothing but a quirky robotic voice with a pre-programmed set of replies?

Did Thor treat JARVIS like- like JARVIS was a person, too? Or-

His head hurts.

He stops thinking about it.

Strange has bowed out by then, citing needing to return to his duties as a Sorcerer Supreme. Rhodey is the only one who looks like he understands what exactly that means, Tony shrugging when the Guardians and Thor look to him for guidance. The doctor bids them goodbye, gets a nod from Rhodey when he requests to be kept in the loop, and says he shall be making his own inquiry into where the missing time stone is.

“The Masters of the Mystic Arts will stand by you once the time comes for battle.” Strange says in his deep baritone.

“How will we contact you?” Tony asks, wondering if he has to burn a candle and say some magic phrase three times.

As if hearing his thoughts, Strange throws him a dirty look. “By phone. You have my number.”

And then he’s gone.

Soon, FRIDAY connects to the newly built mainframe – no need to connect her to the power source in the basement thanks to Rocket’s weird ass nerve root system that’s scattered throughout the property (get this, it’s powered by the _earth_.) The Guardians startle when her voice comes through the speakers Tony’s built throughout the place, but, to his surprise, they grow accustomed to it quickly enough.

“Do you have sight of the perimeters?” Nebula asks in the evening, tilting her head towards FRIDAY in her Iron Man armour.

“I do, yes.” FRIDAY replies curiously.

Nebula nods once, eyebrows furrowed together. “Do you have defence mechanisms for the perimeters?”

FRIDAY pauses for a moment, and then slowly goes, “I don’t, no.”

“Inadequate.” Nebula bites out. “We must defend the territory. Defence mechanisms are essential.”

Rhodey quickly starts- “Hang on, we can’t just put up _defence mechanisms_ without governmen–”

“I agree.” FRIDAY interrupts, head not moving from Nebula. “Perhaps you’d be willing to help me. I’ll draft up preliminary plans… Preliminary plans drafted. If you will?”

And the two exit the double French doors out into the back yard, already deep in conversation about the use of lethal vs non-lethal methods of defence.

Rhodey stares after them, mouth still open, then slowly shuts them with a click. “You know what?” He says deliberately, staring after the two peering up at one of the trees at the far end of the yard. “I’m not going to even try. Nope. I know nothing of what’s happening. Not my issue.”

“A wise decision,” Gamora agrees, even though she’s staring after the two herself, and her expression definitely looks worried.

But with the Mansion updated to Tony’s standards, and FRIDAY still retaining access to the Iron Man armour she’s essentially commandeered as her own, Tony flounders for the rest of the night. He pokes and prods at the other Guardians, finally asking some of the questions he’s been wanting to ask, realises the blue one – Drax – doesn’t understand metaphors, finds that _fascinating_ , and listens solemnly as Gamora recounts how she’d ended up under Thanos’ tender care. Mantis’ empathy he shies from, and Rhodey’s adamant she doesn’t go anywhere _near_ touching distance to Tony, but the tree, Groot, is an absolute _riot_.

“I am Groot.” The tree huffs, slouching on the lone armchair now that his gaming device’s been confiscated by an irate Quill.

“I know, right?” Tony replies, lips twitching upwards, “Who are they to just take the game off you? You can make your own decision about how much you game and when to stop.”

The tree, Groot, stares at him, mouth open, only to sit up and nod quickly with a pointedly agreeing, “I am Groot!”

Tony nods, struggling to keep a straight face as Quill squawks about responsibility and games rotting the mind, and low key whispers not so quietly, “Kid, let me show you the wonders of Earth games. FRI,” he’s absolutely grinning now, “Show him the wonders of Earth games.”

And after that Groot is _definitely_ on his side.

Quill is stranger, for all that he looks like a human. He gets the story from Gamora instead, who can only say he’d been kidnapped from _Terra_ , the universal name for Earth, at a young age and raised by space pirates. Quill mentions his mother had died, brings out an ancient mixtape that looks worn to all hell, says something about his dad who sounds like a douche, but then clamps up and says no further.

Living in the Stark Mansion isn’t pleasant for Tony either.

“Tones here wanted to burn down this whole place, if that helps,” Rhodey, the traitor, offers while patting Quill on the shoulder. “He was so blindingly drunk I took the matchsticks off him and made him believe he’d actually done it for years.”

“Oh, I’m still going to burn this place down,” Tony swears, glaring at Rhodey fiercely. “And I’m going to salt the fucking earth as well.”

Rhodey just says, “Sure, Tones,” and rolls his eyes. It only makes Tony that much more determined to _absolutely_ burn the mansion down.

Tony struggles to sleep that night. Wakes up three hours before the sun should rise with FRIDAY idling besides his bed, conserving the Iron Man armour’s energy levels. She doesn’t need to be constantly active in it anymore now that she has access to the entire building, able to watch and monitor everything as she does in the other properties she previously had access to (only the Tower and the ‘Compound’. What the hell had brain-washed-Tony been _thinking_. He’d essentially _stunted_ her, for shit’s sake.)

He finally gives up and throws the bed sheets off, waving FRIDAY off when the Iron Man armour uncurls itself from the slumped position in one of the room’s corners. “’M fine,” he pushes through a yawn. “Can’t sleep. I need to _do_ something.”

The Iron Man armour returns to sentry position as Tony stumbles out of the bedroom. He makes his way downstairs to the kitchen in search of coffee, yawning all the way, and then finds himself at a loss as to what exactly to do once he has it.

That’s when he remembers the basement. Specifically, the workshop basement. Every Stark property worth the time had one, and Stark Manor was no different. It wouldn’t be up to Tony’s standards, sure, but it would be _something_ , and the thought of fiddling with some old school tech had a certain allure to it that had Tony slowly meandering his way to the basement door.

He never got around to wiring FRIDAY down here, Tony realises as he takes the steps down into the basement. Messing around with the actual foundation of the property would be a bit more dangerous, especially without all of his usual tools. Rhodey would throw a hissy fit if he even knew that Tony’s considering it. Ah well, no point really, especially as he plans to burn this place down.

Once he reaches the bottom of the stairs though, Tony finds himself standing in front of another door he absolutely does not remember from his childhood. It’s sleek and black, the metal of it nonreflective, and there’s a touchscreen keypad embedded seamlessly into it that lights up at a touch. None of it would have been possible in 1991, and none of it should be here, in the Stark Mansion, left untouched almost entirely since.

Frowning, Tony looks at the rest of the small space between the stairs leading up to the ground floor and the high-tech security that should be Howard’s workshop. He can’t think of what to type into the lock, doesn’t have a clue if it’s numbers or words, though the fact that both are an option indicate the pass includes both. He thinks about going up and waking Rhodey up, asking if maybe he knew, if maybe this was something pre-Siberia Tony had done and Tony just didn’t have the memory of it, but the whispery undertones in the back of his mind pulse _quiet, quiet, quiet_ and he doesn’t.

That same feeling unfurls in his chest again, that same sharp pang that makes something burn behind his eyes – the same title sits on the tip of his tongue – and something, _something_ , makes him close his eyes-

_loki, he’s- he’s dead, thor murmurs quietly, clenching his hands between his thighs. thanos, the mad titan, killed him. killed him and heimdall._

_The little godling failed, failed, f a i l e d- and for that the little godling shall burn, burn, b u r n-_

-and opens his eyes. The keypad beeps, lighting up green, as the metal wall suddenly hisses as hydraulics are engaged and a portion slides out to make an entryway. He catches a brief glimpse of the code – _656e642067616d65_ – before the lock turns as black as the rest of the metal material, and then he’s too caught up on what’s behind it to care.

The room – the workshop – is decked _out_. There’s a particle accelerator to the left of the room- _“Goodbye,” says a familiar voice, “I’ve been reassigned. New Mexico.”-_ the makings of an Iron Man armour to the right- bare bones, mostly wiring, still in the early phase- but right at the end of the wide expansive room is-

-a laptop.

It sits innocuously on top of the biggest desk in the workshop, screen open but black, and there’s something next to it Tony can’t make out. He _can_ make out that this shouldn’t be a thing though, that Rhodey’s been acting like he too hadn’t been in the house since the last time he’d visited all the way back in MIT before the car accident killed two of the three Stark’s.

When Tony had woken up – after the strange flight with SpiderSpy out of Siberia – the Mansion had still been dusty, air stuffy until they’d opened every window and aired the Mansion out. Strange had thrown a barb or two about Tony being unable to keep a place clean without throwing his money at people to do it for him the same way he threw his money to get groceries delivered. (Pretty rich, Tony thought then, still thinks so now, considering Strange’s own spending habits when he’d still been a practicing doctor.)

And the code- his mind shies away from poking at it, from deciphering what it could mean. He can just make it out, but he keeps getting distracted right before touching on it, and that’s- that’s not right. Maybe he should actually go back upstairs, get Rhodey, maybe Gamora’s right to be worried about Thanos’ reach and what the hell Pre-Siberia Tony could’ve been doing while under control.

He turns to do that, gut churning, feeling unsettled, as if eyes are on him, goosebumps breaking along his skin. He sees the stairs and- a tidal wave of _no_ washes over him, something screaming at him to turn around, to _quiet quie0t qu1ET N0 0NE CAN KN0W-_

The laptop – sleek and new, not a single hint of branding on it – lights up with a single text bar, a text cursor lazily blinking on and off. Tony can’t remember the code, even when he closes his eyes, even when he-

_b0sement. 656e642067616d65._

He blinks, swaying slightly but still standing. The screen is still locked, text cursor still blinking, and Tony knows he can’t– _won’t_ be able to get in. But the tiny rectangle next to it is a phone, same model as his own, and Tony presses at it-

“ _Fuck_!” He gasps, falling to his knees. Papers are suddenly around him, schematics of the Mansion, of the grounds under Tony’s name, lines and squiggles he can’t make sense off. It’s all swimming, his vision dizzy, and somewhere, the sound of a call connecting lines up blu _E 0VerTAK1N0G h1S ViISIDMDAFVJVE-_

He’s on the floor. He’s clammy and breathing fast and his ears are ringing. He doesn’t- why is he on the floor? Where-?

“You’ve never called me before,” says a familiar voice, bland and impersonal. “I trust it’s urgent.”

Tony slams a hand on the edge of the desk, heaving himself up, gasping as if he’s just survived the ocean at its worst. His head is _pounding_ , spots flickering in his vision, and there’s a voice saying- _“We create our own demons. Wh0 said that? What does it even mean? D0esn’t matter.”-_ and another one that hisses- _“Rejo1ce! You have had the privilege 0f being saved by the Great Titan.”_

He sees that same rock, that same endless space, that same endless silence, he sees blue in Loki’s eyes, grief and surprise and confusion and _rage_ , feels too many fingered hands dig and tear and _burrow_ under his skin and-

huh, he thinks slowly, realisation alighting in him as he blinks sluggishly at the particle accelerator, “Did my Malibu home get trashed?”

There’s silence on the phone for a moment, long enough that Tony vaguely notices the taste of copper in his mouth, the sluggish pull of liquid on top of his lips. He thinks he should get up, maybe, but then forgets it, forgets that he’s on the floor and he ought to not be on the floor, probably.

“It did,” Agent Agent says, and- oh, is he here? When did he come? Tony hasn’t seen him since- since the _hellicarriers_ , and his cards had gotten bloody, hadn’t they? “They did.” And then- “Stark, I need to know, are you at the Stark Mansion? The one in New York?”

The Mansion? The- the place he’s avoided for years? _Welcome home, Sir_ -

“Stark!”

“ _What_? What? I’m- I’m up…”

“Stark,” Coulson’s voice says, and that’s not right, there’s something off about that, he shouldn’t- “Stark, are you at the Mansion or not?”

He is. “Yup. Should’ve-” should’ve… what? “Burnt-” yes- “the place _down_.” Stupid Rhodey. “Stupid Rhodey.”

“Is Rhodes there?”

“Yeeesssss,” Tony drawls, looking for the bottle of alcohol he’d obviously been drinking. Everything feels floaty, dulled at the ages and _warm_. His head is finally quiet – throbbing painfully with the beginnings of a horrible hangover, definitely, but _quiet_. He can’t hear the chittering anymore, or the screa-

“Tony?” Oh, there’s Rhodey- “ _Tony_! Fuck!”

And suddenly there are strong hands on him, sliding under his armpits, a deep voice rumbling, “ _Friend Tony-”,_ pulling him up. The world tilts unpleasantly, the pounding in his head doubles- no, _triples_ , and Tony is _not_ happy about moving from his warm, good spot. But the world _tilts_ , and his head _hurts_ , and Tony- he was talking to someone, wasn’t he? He was talking to- Agent Agent. Coulson. With the cellist. And the cards- he had cards, he- he could-

But the world t 

i

l 

t

s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the formatting for that last line was so great on Word but it's gonna be _trash_ on ya'll's devices. *sobs*


	8. Chapter 8

Time crawls as they make their slow way across the ocean. The quinjet is kept at room temperature, flight path steady and comfortable, but the tension inside it is anything but. The silence is heavy, offset only by Stark’s surprisingly gentle breathing, his face slack as he sleeps on with one arm dangling off the bench uncomfortably.

Natasha doesn’t attempt to help.

She thinks about speaking up, about maybe theorising with FRIDAY about what could be happening. She’s worried about the huge gap in his memory, the way he hadn’t even remembered the AI, and what that could mean. She’s worried about brain swelling, about Stark sleeping with what might be a concussion, despite the fact that he’d been too lucid and aware to really be at danger _four hours_ after whatever had happened.

No. Has to be a concussion. It can’t be anything else. She doesn’t have _proof_ for anything else - just her paranoia.

But he’d been in that bunker, that paranoid replies.. That _HYDRA_ bunker.

She closes her eyes in grief, fear at what could have happened threatening to choke her.

There’s too many possibilities, they’re lacking information- _she’s_ lacking information. The data is inconclusive, and she can’t even begin to formulate a report, or get her head around what the hell to _do_. Everything’s gone to hell. She should’ve- should’ve _what_? The Compound’s half destroyed – thanks to Clint egging on Maximoff and Vision – their faces are all over the screens, their names on everyone’s hit list.

The airport they’d destroyed, the highway Rogers and the grieving king of Wakanda had absolutely decimated, all of it lingers like a bad taste, and she’d- she’d taken the first chance and run away from it, leaving Stark to clean up the mess.

The Compound slowly draws nearer, the sky outside light enough to indicate early morning. The quinjet continues its descent, slight turbulence vibrating the souls of her feet as she considers the still sleeping Stark. She’s weighing up whether she wants to get on FRIDAY’s bad side by attempting it when Stark startles awake, thankfully taking the decision out of her hand.

He stands and stretches, the broken remnants of a fully functioning suit clattering around him in little, useless pieces. The quinjet gives a quiet thump as it lands, and the cockpit’s wide field of vision shows the Compound looking deceptively put together.

“Destination, reached.” FRIDAY reports unnecessarily, just as the AI initiates the quinjet’s ramp to begin lowering.

Natasha unfurls from her seat, ignoring the urge to stretch herself after the long flight. She stalks out of the quinjet and down the ramp, squinting her eyes slightly at the too bright morning sun. She’s thinking of what to do, short and long term plans, immediate things taking priority to give her something to build off of. Securing the perimeter is paramount, taking inventory of what’s functioning in the building and what needs fixing second.

She’s making a checklist in her head when the sound of the quinjet recalling it’s ramp starts up right as she steps off it. Too soon, no chance for someone else to follow- she turns, body alert, alighting on Stark still inside the belly of the quinjet, ramp already half-way closed, get’s out, “FRIDAY, what-”

“I have taken you to the compound,” FRIDAY announces, ramp still closing. “As you requested.”

Adrenaline shoots through her, she lurches forward, hand outstretching to Stark who just _stands there_ , expression confused before morphing into that _stupid_ little smirk she suddenly realises she hasn’t seen in _years_ , not since she’d been undercover, not since he’d spent his days and nights partying and getting drunk. But he can’t- he has to be here, with _her_ \- “FRIDAY, don’t-! He needs to be here! Tony, come out here-”

The ramp thumps shut.

She bangs a fist against it, knowing already that it’s useless. The analytical mind of her that isn’t failing everything she’s been trained for pulls a disc out of one of her Widow’s Bites and sticks it against the quinjet’s hull, the disc lighting up to show it’s on. She calls Tony’s name uselessly, just in case he decides to actually _listen_ and come out, because- he hadn’t known FRIDAY, he _doesn’t_ , he still thinks JARVIS is around, so _why would he listen to the AI?_

Tracker on, she throws herself away from the rising quinjet, closing her eyes against the harsh wind and dust. The quinjet rises out of her reach, high enough that it starts going North-East, and she watches as it disappears out of view.

Left behind in the settling dust, Natasha slowly clenches and relaxes her fist, forces herself calm, forces her training to the forefront.

Secure the perimeter. Take inventory. Short term goals.

She’ll figure out what to do after.

#

The tracker doesn’t work, which, in retrospect, isn’t surprising. Thankfully though, the media catch the quinjet landing at Stark Manor, so Natasha has a location anyway. She makes no plans to go there, not yet, but information is important, information is key.

Instead, she cleans up the Compound, to the best of her ability, and starts setting up the footwork for her feelers. To her surprise, War Machine arrives some time into her efforts, and suddenly she has an Iron Man armour doing the heavy lifting around the Compound for her and letting her use his shoulders as a ladder.

The armour doesn’t speak, no hint of who might be piloting it, but it’s certainly not Rhodes. His injuries make the likelihood of him ever returning to active duty slim to none, even if Stark ( _not_ Tony, not now, not with the consequences of her actions staining her dreams red) could manufacture a miracle. For once in her life she doesn’t press. The armour comes and goes, missing for days at a time before popping up once more without a word.

It’s a good system. A system that lets her work when the armour isn’t here, and lets her take a break and focus on physically exerting herself on rebuilding efforts when the armour is.

She knows about Dr Helen Cho leaving Stark Mansion, driven by a nameless Stark Industries driver to the airport. She knows about another man photographed in the backyard, a Dr Stephen Strange who’d had a horrible accident and promptly disappeared so well that no one can tell her what he’s been doing for the past year.

Their presence at the Mansion is worrying – she tells herself it may not be for Stark, might be for Rhodes instead. Strange is a neurophysician, and even if his hands are incapable of holding a scalpel again, his mind would still be sharp. And Cho’s cradle might actually be able to do something for the ex-Colonel. With Stark’s ingenuity able to tinker Strange’s and Cho’s dreams to life, Rhodes would be in the best hands possible.

It’s during the third day of trying to fill the hole in the living room that she gets the call, her mind stuck on wondering how the hell Vision still doesn’t hate Maximoff after being shoved through what looks like half of the Earth’s crust. She can see the hint of silver right at the bottom, loose wires and sparks of electricity, finds herself rolling her eyes at the thought that even the basement’s ridiculously high tech, of course it is, because _Stark._ Her phone rings on, and when Natasha finally pulls it out, she notices that the number’s unknown, with an equally unknown country code. Definitely not North American, nor European, and none of the other countries Natasha knows.

Nonetheless, she picks up.

“Agent Romanoff,” says a familiar accent, elegant and articulate. “It is King T’Challa of Wakanda. May I trouble you for some of your time?”

She pauses, noting War Machine turning to face her silently, and feels the first fissure of uncertain suspicion at the armour’s intention when it watches her. A part of her tells her she’s being paranoid – if the armour had ill-intent it wouldn’t benefit from playing Bob the Builder with her – but the larger part of her remembers Ultron, and that memory reminds her of the red cloud of Maximoff’s power, and the hallucination it had dragged her under.

“You may,” she makes herself reply, omitting the man’s name just in case War Machine _doesn’t_ have ridiculously sensitive hearing.

“Excellent,” says the King. Her estimation of him is uncertain, negative in how quickly he fell to his rage and grief, cautious as she’d shocked him unconscious to allow Rogers’ and Barnes’ escape, yet respectful of how he’s always been blunt. That estimation goes up a few rungs when T’Challa bluntly announces, “I have the rogue Avengers here, in my territory. They are safe – I have given them refuge for the duration it’ll take for the world to… settle.”

For the fire and pitchforks to calm down, he means.

“The Captain wishes you to join them, as he says you are an integral member of his team. Are you by chance amenable to such?”

She doesn’t have an immediate answer, not really, so she doesn’t answer immediately. While the news of their location isn’t surprising, the fact that Rogers’ was asking for her _is_. One of her feelers had told her something wasn’t right in Africa, that a bright torrent of light had been seen over the skies, one that had disappeared just as quickly as it had come. She was still waiting on a further report as to _where_ exactly that light had come from, but…

On the one hand, she thinks, by going to Wakanda she can investigate what sounds like an activated Bifrost herself, and she can find out just what the hell Rogers’ and Barnes’ did to Stark, figure out how badly the damage extends directly from the source that remembers it. Stark Mansion is a no go – she doubts FRIDAY will allow her entry, and Natasha, despite the fears that still linger from ULTRON, cannot blame her for it. But if she goes, Stark will be alone here, in the states.

He’ll be alone with all the fire and pitchforks, a scapegoat for the world’s ire.

_He already is_ , she scolds herself, refusing to flinch from the truth and the guilt it stirs up. _He always has been_.

There’s only so much she and War Machine can do here anyway. And even if they carried on the Compound will still need an actual licensed construction team, not their half assed attempts. The space is too large for her to keep secure alone, and even if FRIDAY would agree to it, Natasha’s too uncomfortable at returning to having an omnipresent AI watching everything again.

She eyes War Machine, wonders for a moment if maybe the armour is here to keep _her_ here. To keep an eye on her in a subtler form of a lockdown.

This would be a good test.

“Sure.” She finally replies, making her decision.

“Excellent,” repeats the King, though he doesn’t sound particularly pleased, more bored. “Then I shall arrange for transport to arrive at the Compound.”

Her spine straightens, eyes darting around the walls and the floor to ceiling windows that make up one expansive wall. Do they have eyes on her? Do they- the suit. The suit the king wore. It was high tech and strong enough to chase _The Winter Soldier_ down, to fight off Steve Rogers. Why would Wakanda, a country considered the poorest and least developed nation in the world, have such technology?

_Unless they were lying._

Suddenly, the decision to go to Wakanda seems even more imperative than it had before. She needs to get information on all the players on the board, and Wakanda – King T’Challa and his entourage – are the most unknown, the most dangerous.

“How about somewhere else?” Natasha murmurs, moving to the kitchen and pulling out a cold bottle of water from the fridge. She snaps it open, turns to lean on the counter, and watches as War Machine tilts its head at her in the same way it always does right before leaving. The suit turns to leave after, the familiar sound of repulsors engaging reaching her a minute and a minute later as War Machine leaves.

Still.

“I’ll send you the coordinates.”

#

Wakanda sprawls before her, suddenly different from within the forcefield that glitters blue as she passes through. The Dora Milaje steers the aircraft expertly, tapping at a hologram and switching switches, none of the symbols making sense to Natasha.

They land on what looks like a military base, more Dora Milaje visible walking in formation. Natasha pliantly waits until the two in the aircraft indicate her to get moving, and keeps her body loose and nonthreatening as they walk right at her shoulders, neither of them deigning to grant her the same consideration.

They don’t like her. It’s been obvious from the start.

Something calms the moment her feet finally touch firm earth, the moment she’s out into open air and space to manoeuvre. She can immediately see different exit points, how to stir up enough chaos to disappear in the pandemonium. But she keeps her gaze forward, on the familiar, posture-straight figure of the king, and the even straighter posture of Steve Rogers standing at his side.

“Natasha,” the Captain says, taking a step towards her, expression happy and relieved. “I’m so glad to see you’re okay.”

The calm turns tundra cold, bitingly sharp like a poisoned knife, and Natasha finally feels settled with the return of familiarity. _Emotions are childish_ , the matriarch had warned, the only verbal wisdom Natasha had willingly taken with her from the depths of the Red Room, _smother them until they no longer exist._

Natasha smiles. “Who else will keep you boys out of trouble?”

And Steve falls, smiling guilelessly back at her, unaware of one box being ticked in the endless checklist of Natasha’s mind.

Short term. Long term.

#

In the quiet of Steve’s room, away from the living room where the rest celebrate Natasha’s return and gloat over being _right_ , Steve gives in to a raised eyebrow and tells her what happened.

Barnes. Siberia. The video. The fight.

Leaving Stark alone in a secret Hydra base with a non-functioning suit and no way to call for help.

“I wish it hadn’t ended that way,” Steve says morosely, expression hangdog. His hands fold over each other anxiously, and she knows they’re silky soft, not a single callous in sight, cleared away the moment the serum had taken during Project Rebirth. “But he was just so- _mad_.”

Because he’d watched a video showing his parents being murdered by a man standing right in front of him.

“I thought you were going to tell him.” She says carefully, feeling the words out, keeping any judgement out of them. “We knew about it when the triskelion fell.”

“I know, I know,” Steve sighs, running a hand through his picture-perfect blonde hair. “But… there was just no good timing. We were underground right after, trying to find Bucky, and then the UN bombing and everything that happened, just…”

No good timing. There’s _never_ good timing for letting someone know they’re parents hadn’t died in an accident but had been _murdered_. That’s the sort of negligence Natasha would repay with _death_ , and Steve had just-

_Emotions are childish_. Look where it had gotten Stark.

“How is he, anyway?” Asks Steve, as if just asking about the weather. “Haven’t seen him on the news.”

That’s because he’s fucking _grieving_. At the very goddamn least.

She’s fucked up a lot of ways, but trusting (that same damn word) Steve Rogers when he asked her to keep quiet, when he said he should be the one to tell Tony, will now forever be at the very top of the list of worst fuck ups in her life.

Her control is slipping, lips pulling down into the faintest of grimaces, and Steve- he catches on, how nice that he’s actually paid attention to her- and grows worried. “Nat? What is it? Is it about the video? I know I said I’d tell him, but-”

“It took us more than four hours to find him.” She cuts in, words monotone. “Four hours from the moment the Iron Man suit stopped functioning. Four hours for us to have any idea where he was.” Steve opens his mouth to say something, eyes widening, but Natasha cuts him off with a raised palm. “I found him in the base unconscious and frozen. I thought he was dead.” She’d never realised just how long Tony’s eyelashes were, not until she’d noticed them tipped with frost. “It took me twenty minutes to wake him.”

“He-” Steve looks horrified. “He was fine when we- we left him-” realisation dawns, horror growing tenfold- “We _left him_.”

“In a HYDRA base. After we’d exposed HYDRA and sent them scurrying underground.”

“In _Siberia_.” Steve whispers, face paling. “But- on the phone- he sounded _okay_.”

“What?” Natasha sharply replies, brought up short. “What do you mean _on the phone_?”

Steve’s lips press tightly together, shoulders threatening to rise up to his ears in stress. “We spoke to him on the phone just yesterday. There’s a- there’s a situation.”

A situation? A _situation_? Blankly, Natasha repeats, “A situation?”

Blue eyes dart away from her, falling to the floor. His fingers are holding onto each other tightly, knuckles stark against the skin, and he says, tightly, “Bruce turned up yesterday.”

Natasha doesn’t breathe.

“He- he was pretty bad, spooked, when Wakandan soldiers brought him in. We’re lucky they even recognised him, probably not hard after Lagos, but yeah, he was talking a mile a minute when we got to him.”

The Bifrost. But- “Does this have anything to do with the Bifrost?”

Steve’s eyes dart up to her, and he doesn’t look surprised at her knowledge. “Yeah, pretty much. Apparently the person that controls it used it to get him out of a rough situation. He was with Thor. In space.”

_What_?

Gritting her teeth, Natasha calmly demands, “Explain.”

Steve does, though less about how the _hell_ Bruce Banner ended up in space with _Thor_ and more about the threat Bruce came bearing. About a warlord canvassing the universe in search of more of the powerful artifacts that brought about the Chitauri Invasion, about how they had little time, about how the titan was _coming_.

“Bruce said we have to work together,” Steve concludes grimly, shrugging the upcoming war on like an old, familiar coat. “So we called Tony, and he agreed. We’re meeting up in two days.”

Now it’s Natasha pressing her lips together, fighting to keep her body from stiffening with the hot burning _rage_ in her guts. Siberia was just _months_ ago, not even half a year, and they thought they could… what? Unite against a common threat? Watch each other’s backs to save the world?

( _Emotions are childish_ , the matriarch hisses, digging her nails in deep to six-year-old Natasha’s shoulder.)

There’s a reason why Black Widows are women. A reason why the Red Room never had little boys and only ever little girls. Emotions run high in both genders, but women are better at suppressing them, strangling them into submission. At smiling coyly and murdering without a blink. At poison and cold slide of metal into flesh and disappearing in a cloud of perfume and high heels.

And these men, these _boys_ , thought they could strangle feelings of betrayal and rage and _guilt_ and face against something that spooked Banner.

“… Nat?”

She gives in, squeezing the bridge of her nose as she sighs explosively in frustration. And then she inhales, builds her walls back up, and compartmentalises.

Two days. A looming threat. Emotions running high and the fate of their planet on the edge.

Just like Budapest.

# 

Thankfully they don’t meet in Europe. Natasha doesn’t think the continent would be too happy to host them, not after everything they’ve already done to it. Interestingly enough, neither is Wakanda, and from the crack Clint makes of Stark probably stealing their tech that garners no reaction from the Wakandan entourage, Natasha thinks he might not be too far off the mark.

He’s called Hawkeye for a reason.

Still, Canada is an interesting choice. Close enough to America that Stark won’t find it too hard to escape the media’s attention, yet far enough from Wakanda to confuse anyone about where exactly the rogue Avengers had come from if they’re caught. They’re in the wilderness, nothing but nature all around them, the air cold enough to burn all the way to her lungs.

When they arrive, Stark is already there.

He’s lounging on a SUV’s hood, sunglasses on, looking the picture perfect of calm. He’s not alone – Rhodes sits in a wheelchair besides the car, attention on his phone, brows furrowed together in concentration. There’s another man – unknown – who quickly pretends to lounge confidently against the car when he notices them, red leather jacket hiding two holsters. And just to prove that this isn’t all fun and games, an Iron Man suit lurks at Stark’s side, eyes lit up electric blue, posture perfect.

While he might have the sharpest eyes in the world, Clint has never been accused of having the sharpest _mind_. “Fuck, Stark,” he sneers, voice almost ringing in the quiet stillness of the forest, “Another one of your AI’s? Sure this one isn’t going to try murdering us again?”

Stark peers over his sunglasses at Clint, expression openly curious, and then, unsettlingly, says, “Do I know you?”

Natasha feels ice drip down her spine.

Rhodey wheels to the front while Clint splutters in outrage, quickly taking command before Steve’s disapproval or Maximoff’s temper worsen the situation. “Everyone, _behave_ ,” he orders, the command in his tone settling the tension just slightly. “We need to play nice, for fuck’s sake.”

Bru- _Banner_ steps forward, bridging the no man’s land between the two sides, and Natasha pointedly does not think about the fact that neither of them have made eye contact at all since being re-introduced, nor have they spoken a word of- of _anything-_ that doesn’t have to do with the present situation. She sees his face light up, for once actually looking _pleased_ rather than the frustrated he’d been in Wakanda, and Stark actually perks up in return.

“Tony,” he says in relief, stepping over and hugging Stark. Stark startles at the unexpected gesture, but Natasha notes the way he instinctively hugs back, returns the motion that Banner has never initiated before. “Rhodey.” He moves to hug Rhodey too, and now it’s the ex-Colonel that looks surprised, though even he pats Banner companionably on the back, lips quirking up. “Man, am I glad to see you both.”

He stays there, on their side, happier and more relaxed than he’d ever been with the Rogue Avengers. Stark pats him on the shoulder, waves a hand at the unknown man on their side, and introduces, “This is Quill, calls himself Star Lord. He was with Thunderpants.”

“Thor?” Banner says, perking up even more. He looks around, searching for the God of Thunder, and on not finding him asks, “Where is he, anyway?”

The SUV door opens, and a green skinned woman ( _trained_ , Natasha notes, reading her body language, _armed_ ) steps out along with Thor. The Asgardian has a significantly different hairstyle, short, almost cropped to the skull, and a stormy expression. He brightens up on seeing Banner, and the two quickly fall into too strong backpats and exclamations of relief.

“And Valkyrie?” Banner is asking, the name (title?) unfamiliar to Natasha. “Loki? Heimdall?”

Thor’s expression falls, sombre and grieved. “They have fallen, my friend. Though Valkyrie was able to escape with some of my people."

So Loki’s dead. She gives Clint a sharp look – the archer dutifully keeps his mouth shut.

“Thanos?” Banner asks, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Aye, my friend.” Thor confirms.

“See, _this_ is why we need to work together,” Banner turns to them, gesticulating wildly at the gap between them. “None of this crap about who’s right and who’s wrong and the stupid _human_ grudges. Thanos won’t care that we’ve hurt each other’s feelings before. He’s coming and we need to stop him.”

“Bruce,” Steve placates, hands raised, “Bruce, we _know_. That’s why we’re here.”

“The death of my family is _not_ a stupid _grudge_ ,” Maximoff hisses tightly, eyes burning on Banner. “Watch your tongue, _beast_.”

Stark’s eyebrows rise high, almost to his hairline. “You better watch _your_ tongue, kid.” He warns, tone at odds with the relaxed slouch of his shoulders, with the sharp glint in his eyes. “That’s Doctor Bruce Banner you’re talking to, the best mind in nuclear physics. _And_ that’s the Hulk you’re calling a beast. He’d smush you into a paste.”

Maximoff _snarls_ , red engulfing her hands, and suddenly the clearing is aloud with shouts and weapons being drawn. Natasha grabs Clint’s arm, shoving it and the bow and arrow he’d pulled _down_ , for _fuck’s_ sake, and Wilson’s the only thing holding Maximoff back, physically containing her with both of his arms and for her to calm the _fuck_ down.

On the other side, the green woman has pulled out a short sword, wielding it expertly, and the other called Quill has two guns (guns?) aimed directly at Maximoff, eyes tracking the rest of them.

Rhodey’s voice thunders over all of them, “EVERYBODY _STOP_!” forcing them still. “Weapons _down_.” He orders, and somehow, through some miracle, everybody actually _listens_. “Right,” he huffs, running a hand across his head, “Let’s try that again. Tony, shut the fuck up.”

Stark pouts- Natasha suddenly remembers Siberia, the flippant way he’d reacted, the casual talk, the way he’d paid more attention to his surroundings and finding his helmet than on her, _actively putting his back to her_ just to prove he could. It had rattled something in her, had her narrowing her eyes, and suddenly she feels that exact same feeling again, because this – the Stark in front of her – isn’t the Stark that had so eagerly opened up the Compound for them, or the one that had supplied weapons after weapons and funded them out of his own backpocket until Ultron had almost made him bankrupt.

This was- _is_ \- the Stark of _before_. The one that had pettily refused to join the Avengers Initiative because of her report on him. The one that so brazenly claimed to _privatise world peace_. His body language echoes all of it, the loose limbs yet sharp eyes, the fluid dismissal yet cutting tongue, the way he hadn’t reacted in the slightest to Maximoff’s presence or her display of power, despite the fact that he’d never been able to hide his flinch before, and almost exclusively avoided the Compound when she was around.

Something dangles just out of reach in her mind’s eye. Something that echoes the way he’d asked for JARVIS, the way FRIDAY’s existence had surprised him, the way he’d just sounded, asking who Clint even _was_.

“I’m not going to recap everything,” Rhodes presses on, Thor gently pulling Gamora’s sword arm down. “What we know is this: Thanos has the power stone and the tesseract, which is apparently the space stone, because naturally.”

“That’s two stones too many,” Banner says, fingers fidgeting at his sleeve. “It means he’s the most powerful creature in existence, _and_ he can move through space.”

“Then what’s stopping him from just coming here?” Wilson asks. Natasha sends up thanks to whoever- _what_ ever’s listening, because at least _someone_ on this side seems to be willing to play ball.

The green skinned woman is the one that answers. “Confidence. He believes he shall win, thus he has no reason to hurry. To him, he has already won. So he’ll come when he decides to.”

“Sounds more like overconfidence to me,” Steve disagrees. “It’ll be his downfall, and our advantage. Do we have any idea on the location of the rest of the stones?”

The green skinned woman answers again. “One is in a safe place. The Collector shall protect it.”

“Aye,” Thor confirms, nodding at Steve. “The aether, otherwise known as the reality stone. We of Asgard entrusted it to The Collector after the Convergence.”

“The soul stone is unknown,” Gamora continues, “and the remaining two – the mind and the time stone – are here, on Terra. One is in a… _Vision_. Where is this Vision?”

Vision, standing at Maximoff’s other side, clears his throat, announcing his presence. Rhodey’s expression perks up, a grin lighting up his face as he greets, “Hey Vis, good to see you, man. How you doing?”

Vision’s own lips pull up in the awkward way he’s been practicing since. “Colonel Rhodes,” he greets back, the warmth only audible to trained ears, “It is a pleasure to see-”

Stark suddenly gasps, bending over, clutching his head. Banner, next to him, startles, hands flying to the billionaire’s shoulders. And then-

-he _drops_.

Stark hits the ground like a sack of potatoes, crumbling in on himself suddenly. Banner tries to grab him, to control his descent, but the suddenness of the drop makes it difficult. The physicist falls to his knees on the cold ground besides him, turning Stark over, and just in time as well, because Stark starts _seizing_. _Hard_.

His body jerks sharply, the sunglasses have fallen off at some point, wide brown eyes fixed pointedly at the sky, seeing nothing. Natasha shoves herself forward on instinct, even though she doesn’t know what she’ll be able to do, but she grabs the first jacket thrusted in her direction (Wilson, falling back on training, _good_ ) and shoves it under Stark’s head. Foam streams from his mouth, his eyes roll back until they’re barely visible, and the clock in her head ticks on as he continues shaking.

“ _Fuck_ ,” she hears Rhodey swear somewhere behind her, “ _Shit_. Vis, _Vision_ , you need to go.”

“What?” Vision replies in confusion. “But I–”

“I’ll explain–” FRIDAY. Has FRIDAY been piloting the Iron Man suit all this time? “–Just come with me for now, Vision.”

“Natasha,” Banner calls, ripping her attention back, “Help me turn him on his side. He looks like he’s stopping.”

He’s right. The strength of the seizure’s lessening, strong jerks coming less often, eyes closed and breathing settling. Stark gasps as he finally settles after Natasha helps Banner roll him on his side, but the billionaire makes no move to wake up.

“What the fuck,” Clint says, standing somewhere behind her, out of breath. “What the fuck was _that_.”

She glances up, eyes catching Steve’s terrified expression. She can see the thoughts running through his head, probably him replaying the fight, wondering if he’d hit hard enough to have caused permanent damage. She’s wondering it herself, knowing just how hard he and Barnes’ can hit, and the quiet fury burning in her breastbone wants to try repaying the favour.

Before any of them can say anything, Stark gasps again, jack knifing upwards and almost braining Banner. His eyes are wild, darting around, seeing something that’s not there, and his breathing’s off. He snaps out of it when Rhodey shoves his way through, using his arms to bring himself down onto the floor at Tony’s side, snapping his fingers in Tony’s face.

“Tony,” he calls, struggling to pick up his own legs to bring him closer to Stark, “Tones. Hey, eyes on me.” The eyes sharpen on him, awareness slowly coming back to them. “That’s right, there you go. Take a deep breath man, you’re scarin’ me here.”

Stark obeys, gulping in huge breaths of air before slowly evening out. Natasha moves out of his space, snapping a hand out for the others to do the same, giving Stark breathing room.

“So,” he finally croaks out, voice hoarse and painful. “Gamora, got a real quick question.”

The green skinned alien makes an assenting noise, concern obvious on her face.

“There a place called Knowhere?”

Natasha watches as Gamora shares a look with Quill. “Indeed,” she says slowly, “there is.”

Stark grimaces, pressing the tips of his fingers into his eyes, and says, “Well, fuck then. I think our deadline’s just come a hell of a lot closer.”

Banner rests a hand on Stark’s shoulder, knuckles stark with the grip of his force. “What do you mean, Tony?”

It’s Quill that speaks up this time, dawning horror mirrored on Gamora’s face. “The Collector,” he breathes, and suddenly even Thor is looking terrified. “He’s, he’s on Knowhere. We were gonna go there before we found Thor and ended up coming here. Shit, The Collector has the reality stone.”

“Not anymore,” Stark says, sounding so sure of himself. He looks up, tired and weary, and Natasha sees the truth in his face as he announces, “The Collector’s dead. Thanos has the reality stone. Our time’s running out.”

“Then he has three stones,” Thor rumbles, helping Stark stand with a gentle hand. “That of power, space, and reality itself.”

“And _that_ ,” Quill summarises, “means we’re _fucked_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh noes, thanos has three! \o/


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is officially the last chapter that's beta'd. everything after is _absolutely me_. guys, i don't even know what i _wrote_ after this, i'm just glad to be finished.

Tony struggles to pay attention to what happens next. There’s a change in location – a secret SHIELD base that’s been emptied out for some reason, built into the very foot of a mountain – facilitated by Agent Romatasha. The rest of the Guardians arrive, and he thinks he hears shock at the image Groot and Rocket make, but he’s not too sure.

Rhodey is at his side, fussing over him, thankfully back in his wheelchair. They hadn’t brought the stabilisers with them – they aren’t too helpful on rough terrain yet, and Tony still doesn’t feel comfortable messing with them. Thor and the majority of the Guardians surround him where he sits on a big rock, and the Rogers’ and his crew are at the other side near the entrance to the base trying to get it open, occasionally not so subtly looking back at them.

“Goddammit,” Rhodey sighs at yet another look. “We’re gonna have to tell them something. They’re probably already wondering how the hell you know about the reality stone, and what the hell that seizure was even about. Fucking _shit_ ,” he curses, “I should’ve known about Vision. Should’ve never let you meet him.”

“How the hell could you have guessed I’d react like that?” Tony shoots back with an eyeroll, immediately regretting it when the movement sends a spike of pain through his head. “Though yeah, him having the mind stone might have been helpful to know beforehand.”

“It triggered something,” Quill points out thoughtfully, “So might have been for the best. What was it you saw again?”

Tony sighs. “Look,” he says again, not for the first time, “all I actually saw was bits and pieces. He asked the Collector – human looking guy with white hair? – where the reality stone was, the Collector tried to lie and say he’d given it away, Thanos did _not_ appreciate that and killed the guy and found the stone anyway. Then he proceeded to outright destroy the whole place. It’s a husk. A burning husk.” He grimaces, catching the slumped shoulders of the Guardians, realising the place was somewhere they knew well. “Sorry.”

“But you saw it,” Nebula presses on, ignoring her companions’ grief as she stalks towards him from where she’d stood by FRIDAY’s side. “You saw it happening. Did you see Thanos himself or…?”

Tony frowns, wincing at the remnant headache that still jabs into his eyes. He closes them, pressing his fingers into them to relieve the pressure, and thinks back. He doesn’t- he doesn’t _think_ he saw Thanos himself, but it had definitely been him, he’d seen The Collector, and a whole bunch of others dressed darkly and acting subserviently to Thanos, and-

His frown deepens.

“I think…” he starts slowly, “I think I was… looking _through_ his eyes?” It’s a question more than it is an answer, but as he says it he realises it’s the truth. “Yeah, yeah I was.”

Nebula and Gamora share a pointed look.

“You were under the mind stone’s control,” Gamora reasons, “and the mind control was directly under Thanos’ control.”

“You were under _his_ control,” Nebula agrees, head tilting as she stares down at Tony. “Just as the other godling was.”

“It is not unreasonable to consider that some of that connection may yet still linger.” Gamora finishes, echoing her sister in the tilt of her head, in the considering, suspicious look she aims at Tony. “A liability. If you can see his actions, he may be able to see yours.”

Tony groans, head dipping low as he keeps his eyes closed for a different reason. Thor’s large hands are a warm comfort on his shoulders, gently squeezing in reassurance as the Asgardian says, “If that is so, the connection has also been a boon. We would not know of the loss of the reality stone were it not for friend Tony.”

“And we still don’t have a clue what the hell the mind stone even _did_ ,” Rhodey says above him, voice indignant. “He didn’t do anything like Loki or Clint did. He was just… normal.”

The words come out of nowhere, “No, I wasn’t.”

“What?” Rhodey asks in surprise.

Grimacing, Tony opens his eyes as he flaps a hand in Rhodey’s general direction. “Rhodey, honeybunchs, platypus, I was absolutely not normal. Just look at the accords. You said I was _okay_ with that shit? I wouldn’t have let that slide _at all_.”

Rhodey doesn’t say anything for a moment, the air thick with tension. Slowly, feeling the words out, he finally says, “Okay… Maybe. But that’s one thing. And how would that benefit Thanos?”

“Not one thing,” Tony disagrees, shaking his head. “You said SHIELD was secretly HYDRA. I would’ve known – I put JARVIS on the hellicarier and had him go through everything. Are you telling me JARVIS wouldn’t have picked up on that and not told me?”

“But he didn’t,” Rhodey argues, and another hand lands on his knee, making it three, warm and firm. “Tony, for some reason J didn’t even tell us about your eyes.”

FRIDAY adds, “There are no records of HYDRA in any of the files JARVIS pulled from the hellicarier, Boss. It looks like he didn’t notice.”

Tony turns to look at Rhodey, expression grim.

Rhodey stares back at him. And then sighs.

“Okay,” he says slowly, “Okay, so _something_ was happening. And you think it had to do with J?”

“No,” he says at first, and then changes it to a confused, “Yes? I’m not sure. But there’s no way JARVIS would have missed it. And there’s no way he wouldn’t have noticed my blue eyes. And ULTRON! What the hell, Rhodey? You know for a fact I would’ve never made ULTRON. I was the one that told Pym not to in the first place!”

“Wait,” Bruce interrupts, ducking down to be at face level with Tony. “What? Pym? As in Pym Technology? What does ULTRON have to do with Pym, Tony?”

He winces, holding his head as the whispers grow louder – a voice sings hauntingly about strings ( _uLTroN- “no sTRinGS oN ME-”)_ , and a golden visual of code floats in tatters in front of him ( _SiR?)_. The whispers turn to screams ( _a quiet part of him screams-_ ) and the mind stone pulses within the head of the sceptre, pulls him closer, pulls him under bLuE BluE blUE-

“I never made ULTRON,” he grits out, forcing the words past clenched teeth. “Hank Pym had the bright idea of using his own neural pathways to create an AI for peacekeeping purposes, and came to me for the coding part. I told him it was a stupid idea, that AI’s were unique in the fact that they _didn’t_ think like humans, and wiring one with a human brain as the basis was just asking for trouble since humans fucking sucked. I told him no.”

“But-” Bruce goes, “-but you had the code. You said it was your idea. You said you saw-”

“‘ _A suit of armour around the world_.’” He quotes quietly, the words suddenly there. “But here’s the thing,” he looks up, eyes tight from the pain and the jarring voice still singing in his ears, “Why would I make a brand-new AI for that?”

Bruce doesn’t get it. His expression says that completely. His eyes are wide, his eyebrows furrowed, and he just doesn’t get it. But Rhodey- Rhodey’s expression breaks, grief and the sudden realisation of the truth dawning on him, and even FRIDAY’s eyes glow brighter as recognition sets in.

“Why would I go out of my way to build ULTRON, a brand new AI, one that would have to learn everything from scratch, for the express purpose of something as huge as world peace?” Tony continues, trying to explain it to Bruce, but also feeling the need to defend himself, to defend the idiot Stark who’d been unable to drag his dumb ass out of the blue to _not_ do something that had _destroyed_ a country. “Why the _hell_ would I even bother when I already had an AI that knew exactly how to pilot my suits, that knew exactly what to do in any situation because they’d already grown and become their own person? Who I trusted _with my life_ \- hell, fuck that, who I trusted with _Rhodey’s_ life. And I’ve looked at stuff too! I had VERONICA up in orbit! Why wouldn’t I just extend her responsibilities? Put up a couple similar in orbit and have her control them? Deploy Iron Man suits from space to hotspots that needed them? Why the hell would I create a _brand new AI_ with _alien tech I didn’t understand_ for something that I could have easily done already?”

He’s shouting now, voice raised. His head’s up, his eyes are still squinted against the pain, his head is pounding and his ears are drowning in the whine of repulsors powering up. He can see flashes of things – a party, a hammer, a broken down bot and a city being laid to siege. He can see a farmhouse, Rogers’ snapping a log clean in half with his bare hands, Fury looking old and weary, and-

Everyone looking at him. Judging him. Blaming him for creating a killer robot.

He’s on his feet – when did he get on his feet? The other Avengers, the ones that disappeared because they were considered criminals _worldwide,_ are suddenly staring at him, pulled in by his voice. The hands slide off him – he misses their warmth for a split second before he forgets that too – and-

“Why the _hell_ ,” he hears himself demand, angry at Bruce, at Rhodey, at Thor and the damn criminal Avengers, at _his own damn self_ , “would I even bother when I already had the means to manufacture a suit and stick it _anywhere I damn well wanted!_ Why the hell would I suddenly create an AI that _malfunctions_ when I’ve been making AI’s since I was seven! When I already had _four functioning AI’s_ and two more in the works! Why would ULTRON be the AI that suddenly turned evil? Did any of you even stop to think about that or was it too _fucking_ convenient to just blame stupid, arrogant, Tony _fucking_ Stark?!”

Rhodey can’t stand, can’t navigate himself quickly enough in his wheelchair to calm him. It means Bruce takes the brunt of his anger, stumbles back with wide eyes and hesitantly raised hands, palms up in peace. It means it takes Thor sliding in between them, placing a large hand on Tony’s chest gently for Tony to back down. It means FRIDAY’s quiet, “… Boss?” shutting Tony up, because even though he’s angry, _seething_ in a way he rarely ever is, he’s not so angry to ignore the wobble in her voice or the way she hesitates to touch him.

Tony shakes off Thor’s hand and throws himself back on the rock. He snaps opens his shades harshly and jabs them onto his face, more out of self-defence as he notices Rogers’ and the snarky blonde guy with the bow and arrow approach than a need to shield his eyes.

“Everything alright here?” Rogers’ asks carefully, stopping before reaching them.

“Fucking roses!” Tony throws out, lounging back on his rock and letting his signature smirk pull on his face. “Just hashing out how nobody noticed I was fucking _brainwashed_ by an evil purple grapefruit for _fucking years_. Peachy.”

“Tony, for fuck’s sake,” Rhodey sighs, putting his face in his hands, just as Rogers’ and Agent Biceps shout in surprise. “ _Not_ the way I wanted to tell them.”

Tony answers him with a middle finger, unrepentant. And then leaves Rhodey to explain everything to the approaching ex-vengers by linking his arms with FRIDAY and Nebula and dragging them away to the SUV. “You’re the only two I’m not mad at,” he tells them, ignoring the way Nebula carefully puts away the weapon she’d drawn instinctively at his move.

Nebula frowns at him. “Why are you mad at Gamora?”

Tony huffs, letting his hostages go once they’ve reached the SUV only to go back and hook his arm with a confused Gamora, bringing her back with him. “Fine,” he tells Nebula. “I’m not mad at Gamora either. She can stay.”

Nebula nods seriously at him. “Good.”

Leaning against the hood of the SUV, Tony turns his attention to FRIDAY and seriously says, “You had no reason to suspect anything. I brought you online while already under the mind stone’s hold, and everything you saw from the moment you were online was what you could only know as normal.”

“But Boss-” FRIDAY tries to argue.

Tony cuts her off with a, “-No, FRIDAY, seriously, you know I’m right. Logically speaking you had no chance. I don’t blame you, and you shouldn’t blame yourself.”

The AI doesn’t immediately respond, mulling over it for a moment before sighing – a crackly noise JARVIS never once initiated. It’s surprisingly human, and Tony’s lips pull up in pride at the fact that FRIDAY’s incorporated that into her mannerism, and more that she’s returning to that informal way of hers that he’s been missing for the past few weeks.

“If you say so.” She finally agrees, giving in.

“I do,” Tony confirms, patting her on her forearm. “The others can go suck a dick, though.”

FRIDAY beeps, a sudden noise that startles out of her. Tony bursts out laughing, because he knows that beep, knows it in the way DUM-E and the other bots would do the exact same thing when something had startled them. Knows it in the way JARVIS, _baby_ JARVIS, reacted the exact same way himself before he’d learnt to better manage himself.

And just like them, FRIDAY grows embarrassed, whining, “Boossss!” as he laughs so hard he’s bent at the middle.

“Terrans are strange,” Gamora says above them, seated on the SUV’s roof as she is.

“And you are ‘dating’ one of them,” Nebula shoots at her sister, unimpressed. “Which makes you stranger.”

Rhodey and the ex-vengers are shouting at each other back near the rock, voices raised and harsh. Bruce stands amongst them, interjecting occasionally, but Tony can’t really make out his face from where he’s sitting on the SUV’s roof next to Gamora. He watches anyway as Thor takes a threatening step towards Rogers, as Natashenkanoff stands in between them, as Bruce doesn’t turn green or huge despite the high tensions rolling off everyone.

He turns to Gamora and Nebula, and thoughtfully asks them, “You said you were both, like, adopted by Thanos, right?”

They nod, neither looking happy about it. “He claimed to love us as his children, but I doubt he is capable of love nor understands it.” Gamora answers, eyes dipping away to the forest.

Tony doesn’t push, even if he can tell there’s a hell of a lot of story to unpack, and asks instead, “You guys have any idea why he had me under his control?”

It’s been eating away at him, getting louder and louder with every bit of history Rhodey gives him, or every bit of story he unearthes from the history – all the things he’s done whilst under the mind stone’s control. None of it makes sense – none of it stuff he would have done, but nothing so outright _evil_ to belong to a brainwashed billionaire.

Gamora frowns, her eyes tracking over to where Quill of all people looks like he’s trying to calm both Rhodey and Thor. “You say they were your team?” She asks.

Tony turns to look himself, taking in Romanoff, Rogers’, Bruce and Biceps, taking in Thor standing opposite them at Rhodey’s side and the two strangers who’d introduced themselves as Wilson and Lang. He remembers the hellicarier, the moment he’d left them to rush to the tower knowing that they’d be coming in after him, and how he’d been so certain of Bruce at the very least turning up.

“Kind of?” He says, shrugging when Gamora and Nebula frown at him. “Fury had an idea, about all of us being something like earth’s mightiest heroes. We were supposed to be something like you guys, but guardians of earth, not the whole galaxy.”

The sisters’ frown at each other. Nebula says, “But they are broken now. Look at them squabbling amongst themselves.”

“Do you know what broke them?” Asks Gamora.

Tony turns to FRIDAY, running through everything he knows, and says, “ULTRON, maybe?”

FRIDAY nods the suit’s head slowly. “I would say that might be what finally broke it, but the fractures were there long before I was brought online, Boss.” She tilts her head to the side thoughtfully and asks, “I can ask Vision, maybe? He has…” she pauses, hesitates, but then pushes through- “He has JARVIS’ memories.”

Tony winces, expecting pain, but pleasantly doesn’t get any. He doesn’t prod at it though, even though FRIDAY had given in and explained just who the hell Vision was, so he’s not too surprised at the fact that the strange being with the mind stone in his forehead has JARVIS’ memories, having been made from him.

“Yeah,” he says slowly, nodding his head. “Go ahead, ask him.” A thought hits him- “Wait, he’s on the network with you?”

FRIDAY shakes her head. “No. But he has JARVIS’ memories, Boss, and I think… some of his code? His makeup is… strange. He’s given me a proxy if I need him, but he prefers to keep himself off the ‘net. After ULTRON, once he got himself sorted, he helped me a lot with basic setups. Him and VERONICA.”

VERONICA. Another AI Tony had only just been messing around with the idea off. Another reason why ULTRON was a _dumb_ idea that Tony would’ve never agreed too because he already had VERONICA in the works anyway! And look, _she_ hasn’t turned evil, even with a Hulkbuster floating _in outer space_.

He rolls his eyes behind the shades, lips pursing in residual anger.

“Vision says team cohesency had been low from the very beginning. He says JARVIS estimated success of the Avengers Initiative at a dismal 20%. This rose to 35% following the victory of the Chitauri Invasion, and then to a further 55% once Colonel Rhodes got War Machine.” FRIDAY reports.

“Why did it fail, then?” Gamora frowns. “55% isn’t too bad. Especially if it’s on the rise.”

FRIDAY pauses, head tilting again as if listening to something. “It… seems decreases in team morale and reliance corresponds with-” she cuts herself off, standing up straight, and then- “Boss, it correlates directly with every time an event concerning you happened.”

Tony frowns, peering at her over his shades. “What do you mean, FRI?”

“The lack of aid from the Avengers when Ms. Potts was kidnapped by Killian dropped the success rate to 45% - Vision says if a rational reason for the unavailability of the Avengers had been available, it would not have dropped, but no reason was ever provided. It was just you and Colonel Rhodes against the Ten Rings, Boss.” FRIDAY reports. “And then the events of ULTRON happened, for which you were largely blamed for it by the media but also by the Avengers. This decreased the success rate to 18%. Vision says in retrospect he’s surprised you were all even capable of fighting besides each other. Wanda Maximoff and her brother’s inclusion into the team dropped it to 5%, as it directly opposed yourself and Dr Banner’s preferences, and led to Dr Banner taking a quinjet and leaving and you yourself essentially resigning from active duty.”

“5% is still 5% though,” Gamora says slowly, consideringly. “What was it that finally broke it and made it impossible?”

“HYDRA,” Tony answers along with FRIDAY. She nods, and this time it’s Tony that explains. “Rogers’ and Romanoff finding out about HYDRA being in SHIELD and deciding to deal with it themselves rather than coming to me. I’m the tech guy,” he explains, pushing his shades up until they rest on his head. “I’m also the rich guy, meaning I have access to a lot of things and political clout. You guys know political clout?”

The sisters both nod.

“So imagine if you find out the main authority of a place is riddled with a secret evil organisation, and instead of going to the guy that can use his tech ability and political clout to get in and root them out, you – being nothing but brute force and shady tactics – decide to go in and expose them to _everyone_. By dumping _everything_ on a global networking system.”

The sisters… nod. Then look to each other with growing shock.

“Yeah,” Tony huffs, throwing the shades back on and crossing his arms over his chest childishly. “I don’t know how brainwashed me didn’t notice what the hell they were doing at the time, but if he did he just let it slide.”

“No doubt, that reduced any chance of the Avengers Initiative being successful,” FRIDAY concludes. “At this point, not only would the percentage have been at 0%, it would have most likely been in the negatives.”

“No longer neutral,” Tony simplifies. “More like enemies. Actively distrusting each other.”

Both the sisters are still looking at each other, a conversation passing between them with the twitch of lips and the slow rise of eyebrows. It’s Nebula that turns to Tony and FRIDAY, looks between them, and says, “That is what Thanos wanted.”

What? Tony stares at her. “What?”

“This… Initiative,” Gamora explains, “was intended to protect this planet, was it not?” At Tony’s nod, she carries on, “How can you protect this planet if you are too busy fighting amongst yourselves?”

_(“How will your friends have time for me,” Loki murmurs, stalking closer, sceptre rising, “when they’re so busy fighting you.”_

_And then everything turns b l u e -)_

And suddenly, it makes sense. But-

“Are you saying the mind stone, Thanos, all of it, was just to get me, _brainwashed me_ , to destroy the Avenger’s from the inside out?” He asks incredulously, actually taking the shades completely off this time. “All that power, just for that?”

“It might not have been him, specifically.” Nebula says, frowning deeply in thought. “Most likely the work of The Other. It has his… fingers all over it.”

A brief image of a hand with too many fingers flickers through Tony’s mind, there and gone, and he doesn’t chase it.

“It _would_ make sense, Boss.” FRIDAY points out, head tilting to the side. “The Avengers were able to mobilise and defeat Loki and his army with little to no preparation. None of you had even met, and yet team cohesion had been at an unprecedented 98% during that battle. It wouldn’t be strange to assume that team cohesion would have only grown had the team been able to truly come together.”

Tony’s not buying it. “And me being brainwashed is the linchpin that completely threw that off?”

“Not enough data to confirm, Boss.” FRIDAY answers, a perfectly reasonable answer for an AI. “But I have a feeling yes.”

Oh. _That’s_ not a perfectly reasonable answer for an AI. That’s a- Tony stares at FRIDAY, blinks slowly, then smiles so wide his cheeks are hurting. A feeling. A purely illogical, non-substantiated, _feeling_.

FRIDAY’s growing. And she’s growing _fast_.

“Alright then,” he agrees, still grinning, much to the confusion of Nebula and Gamora. “Good enough of an hypothesis, I guess. Doesn’t mean much now, though. Thanos has the stones. We’ve only got the mind stone here.”

Something flickers in his mind, there and gone, and suddenly-

His phone bleeps, FRIDAY goes ramrod straight before twisting to stare at the sky, the whine of repulsors powering up-

PERIMETER BREACH, his phone reads, SECTOR X46-

Nebula’s folding over in half, clutching her head, hissing “ _Maw-_ ”-

His phone blares out a warning, Thor’s facing them, face concerned-

“Boss-”-

PERIMETER BREACH, his phone wails, vibrating harshly in his hands, UNIDENTIFIED OBJECT FAST APPROACHING. CONTACT IMMINENT.

He snaps out of it to Gamora’s hand on his shoulder, gets off the SUV just as his phone suddenly goes silent. It reads an address, _177A Bleecker Street, Manhattan, New York_ , has no idea what that means besides being a block away from Stark Towers, but can easily tell it means nothing good.

“Boss,” FRIDAY hurriedly says, “I’ve lost contact with VERONICA.”

VERONICA. In _space_ VERONICA. How the hell have they lost contact with _VERONICA_.

“They are _here_.” Nebula hisses, shaking off the visible pain on her face, right eye still squinted.

“Transmission?” Gamora demands of her sister.

Nebula nods. “Ebony Maw. He says this is our final offer of forgiveness. Join them, or even _father’s_ mercy will run dry.”

Gamora’s expression turns tight.

“FRIDAY,” Tony issues his own demand. “Any news on this address?”

His AI is already ahead of him. “Preliminary reports are showing an unidentified craft has landed in Manhattan, Boss. There is currently- oh.” That’s not good. “Boss, I’ve just identified Dr Stephen Strange in battle with two non-humanoid beings.”

Goddammit.

“Input address into everyone’s devices,” he tells her, stalking to the SUV’s luggage and opening it up impatiently. “We need to suit up and _go_. Looks like we’ve got no time to plan.”

“Done.”

He’s throwing off his jacket when the rest of the crew’s arrived, Rhodey actually letting one of the new guys – the black one, Tony thinks with absolutely no regard to delicate feelings, Williams? Wilsons? Will something. – wheel him faster. “We’ve got a situation,” he says before they can speak, not wanting to deal with whatever storm of emotions are on all of their faces. “Manhattan. Looks like aliens. Nebula, you know them?”

“Ebony Maw,” Nebula answers. “And Cull Obsidian.” Her lips curl in distaste. “Thanos’ _children_ , such as Gamora and I.”

Rogers’ jaw tightens, nostrils flaring. “We know what they’re here for?”

“The stones, no doubt.” Gamora answers with a frown. “Where is the one named Vision?”

“As of one minute and fifty two seconds; offline.” Says FRIDAY.

The red haired woman – not Natashaloff, the other one, with the accent – lurches forward, worry high in her voice- “We must find him quickly! He could be in trouble.”

“He has the mind stone,” Gamora agrees, for a completely different reason. “They will be going for him, if they haven’t already.”

“He is not on the scene,” FRIDAY reports. “Social media reports show the two now identified aliens are specifically targeting Dr Strange.”

Rhodey curses. “Why would they be targeting him? Vision has the stone, that we know for certain, and nobody has a clue about the time stone-”

Time. As in controlling time. As in _Strange doing that weird ass thing where he restored Tony’s living room to pristine order with the green gem in his necklace-_ _Fuck_. “-That fucking _bastard_.”

“Tony?” Rhodey’s staring at him, eyebrows raised.

“Rhodey,” Tony echoes back, face grim. “The fucking wizard has the stone. His fucking _necklace_. He’s had it all this fucking _time_.”

Rhodey’s face goes pale, and he’s cursing again, phone in his hand and already ringing. “I can’t believe that bastard. He _knew_ we were searching for it, he-”

“A wise decision,” Nebula puts in, “As we have just had confirmation Stark’s connection to the Titan is still active.”

Meaning if Strange had confessed to having the stone, Tony would’ve known. _War Machine_ would’ve known, and hadn’t he left right after they’d confirmed Vision having the mind stone? Fuck. _“Fuck_.”

“Whatever it is, Thanos’ minions know where the time stone is.” Black Widow summarises. “And we know for a fact they’re after this doctor, who has it. We don’t know where Vision is, but we know where _Strange_ is. We go to Manhattan.”

FRIDAY opens up, displaying the empty space inside her. Tony climbs in, something like relief rippling through him as the metal closes around him, perfectly cushioning him on the inside.

“We need crowd control,” Rogers’ is saying while the HUD lights up all around Tony. “Natasha, Clint, you’re on-”

“No need,” FRIDAY’s voice says from the external speakers. “SHIELD is at the scene and has already started evacuation.”

Natasha’s expression goes cold. “SHIELD? SHIELD doesn’t exist anymore.”

Rhodey snorts. “Yeah, it absolutely does. And guess who’s leading it?” He doesn’t wait, bulldozing on with, “Coulson. Guess he’s not so dead, huh?”

“That’s-”

“No time,” Rhodey interrupts Natasha, ignoring the way she and Clint have gone stiff in shock, how Tony’s frowning because what? Since when was Agent Agent even dead? “We need to go. Tony, Thor, you guys can fly. Go ahead and give Strange back up. We’ll get in the ship and come after you. You guys,” he directs at Rogers’, “You got fast transport?”

Natasha nods sternly.

“Good,” Rhodey huffs, rolling his shoulders. “Then get to it. We don’t have time.”

The rogue Avengers stand for a moment, almost as if they’re going to argue. Rogers’ jaws are clenched so hard his teeth must be in danger, but somehow, he’s still the first person to stand down and lead the rest away, to wherever their transport is.

Rhodey sighs, shoulders slumping, as soon as they’re gone. He wheels around to face the rest of them – Tony, Thor and the Guardians – and says, “We need to get going to. Tony, Thor, you know what to do. I’ll go with the guardians in their ship – as soon as we’re in New York they’ll join you. I’ll-” he falters, closing his eyes and bowing his head. Tony can see the knuckles in his hands straining where they’re gripping the wheelchair’s armrests, and realises why.

A couple months ago, Rhodey would’ve been suiting up, joining him and Thor.

And now he can’t.

“Go,” Rhodey pushes through, his own jaws clenching tight like it always does when he’s trying to be strong. “We don’t have time, Tony, go.”

Tony _doesn’t_ go, caught between wanting to _do_ something but not knowing _what_. Rhodey’s injury is as healed as it’ll ever be – the Cradle, and Cho’s expert use of it with Strange’s input, has made sure of it – and FRIDAY’s been single-minded with working Rhodey through the physiotherapy. But that doesn’t mean Rhodey’s _ready_ for a suit. Sure, he’s wearing the braces even now, but they’re not streamlined enough or even remotely ready to be integrated in his usual armour, and Rhodey still winces when he’s forced to use them for too long. Even if he _is_ physically ready, Tony knows more than anyone how difficult climbing back into the suit after it’s almost killed you can be. Afghanistan is one example. Obie is another.

But _still_.

He wants to ask: _how can you not blame me?_

Wants to ask: _how can you not hate me?_

Wants to say: _I took away everything from you._

“Tony,” Rhodey sighs, and his jaws loosens, the furrowed brows relax, and now he just looks tired and weary. “Tony, come on, don’t give me that look. Yeah, it’s not good, it fucking _sucks_ -” he stops, breathes shakily. Starts again. “I hate that I can’t come with you, watch your back. But- But I don’t regret what got me here.” Confusion flickers across his face for a moment before settling on shock, and he blinks up at Tony, squinting at him as he says, “Huh. That’s right, you don’t remember do you? We talked about this. You got called Mr Stank and everything.”

Tony blinks back at him, then pulls an insulted face.

Rhodey snorts. “Yeah, you pulled that exact same expression,” he grins, looking years younger. “We’ll talk about what happened,” he promises, patting at an armrest, indicating the wheelchair and his entire injury. “Properly. Not just the edited stuff. I’ll tell you exactly what I told you then. Hell, I’ll even add in video recordings, just to prove it. But you have to not get your ass beat in New York for that to happen, yeah?”

Tony, still pulling a face, goes, “I’ll be fine, platypus. Like I could ever get rid of you. You’ll be at the Mansion ordering me through the comms won’t you?”

“That’s a great idea, Boss.” FRIDAY agrees through the external speakers. “I’m already setting up the living room as a control centre.”

Rhodey’s eyebrows rise, surprised, before he grins helplessly. “Yeah,” he says, sounding pleased. “That sounds great. Now _go_.”

Tony throws a two fingered wave at him as he turns to Thor, noticing the big guy giving them some space – the rest of the Guardians have already scattered towards where they’d landed their ship. “You ready, big guy?” He asks the Asgardian, throwing him a grin as his faceplate slams shut.

Thor, however, doesn’t look excited. His expression looks downcast, eyes dipping in almost shame as he confesses, “I’m afraid I must join the guardians and friend James as well, friend Tony. I… cannot accompany you. I no longer have Mjolnir, after all.”

Oh. Oh _right_. Because his sister had introduced her existence by _destroying it_. And Thor swung that thing like a helicopter to fly.

Damn. Tony feels guilty for bringing it up, for _forgetting about it_. Before he can try and string something to say to _that_ , FRIDAY surprises him by hesitantly saying, “Boss…” to him and him only. “About that…”

“What’s up, FRI?”

“Did you really mean it?” She asks, sounding uncertain. “When you said I could… _do_ things… without your knowledge or approval?”

Eyebrow cocking in surprise and intrigue, Tony slowly replies, “… Well, uh, I’d _like_ to know, since, y’know, ULTRON. But I trust you.” And then, suspiciously, “… Why?”

“After hearing what happened to His Highness,” FRIDAY starts, “I… ran some numbers. And after our conversation-” the one where he’d told her about JARVIS taking the initiative, doing things that didn’t always have Tony’s pre-emptive approval, “-I… made something. And… well… brought it. Here.”

The shot of sheer _curiosity_ that stabs him has Tony _grinning_. “Ooooh, _shit_ ,” he breathes, fingers itching to get their hands on it, on whatever the hell FRIDAY decided to create. Her _first_ creation! Her first one! “Where is it?” He excitedly asks, lurching towards the SUV again. “FRIDAY, holy _shit_ , what did you _make_?”

The AI stutters as she tells him where to find it, audibly surprised by his enthusiasm. Tony digs into the back of the SUV, opening up a secret compartment he _absolutely_ did not know existed, and gasps when he sees the case.

“Thor,” he breathes, quickly waving the god of thunder towards him. “Thor, buddy, holy shit, come check _this_ out. FRIDAY, baby girl, take the _wheel_.”

FRIDAY does, the sensation of the armour moving Tony’s hand to open up the case strange but easy to ignore with how _exciting_ this all is. She’s explaining why Tony’s called her over, awkward and uncertain, obviously worried about overstepping something. “I couldn’t help but think you would need a weapon, if a battle was to occur,” she’s saying apologetically (apologetically!). “I understand it won’t be anything close to Asgardian make, especially as we don’t have the metals you do, but, uh, maybe it’ll do?”

And Thor cements his place as Tony’s favourite when the sadness on his face changes to him _beaming_ in excitement. “You built me a weapon? Me? A weapon? Lady FRIDAY, you have honoured me greatly! May I see it?”

FRIDAY snaps open the case, a smallish square material that doesn’t look big enough to hold a full fledged weapon. Inside is a vambrace, gold with an intricate single red braid spiralling around it. It looks like it extends from mid-forearm to the wrist, but Tony can’t make out where exactly the seam is to open it up or close it.

“I designed this to mimic your own vambraces, Your Highness,” his AI explains, picking it up delicately from the case. “Unfortunately, there wasn’t much time for cosmetic choices, as I only put it into production two days ago. I can, uh, change the colours or design for you later, if you wish.”

Thor stares at it, suitably impressed. Tony doesn’t blame him though when he hesitantly asks, “It looks magnificent, my lady, but… forgive me for asking, how does it aid in battle?”

FRIDAY gestures for Thor’s arm, which he gives, a fearless move Tony knows for a fact only Rhodey would ever do when it comes to trusting AI’s. She places the vambrace next to his forearm, touches the cold metal against it, and-

The metal _flows_ over Thor’s skin, like water in a stream, and soundlessly settles into the vambrace it was before, just now exactly fitting Thor like a second glove.

Tony’s speechless.

“Nano technology.” FRIDAY helpfully names. “Boss and I have been working on it on and off for some time now, but could never really get it the standards that we want for his new suit. But in a more contained space like a weapon? And without the need to have such complex programming and sensors like the suit would? I ran the numbers, and it looked feasible.”

Thor’s staring at it, mouth open, twisting his forearm to better admire the polished metal and the way it reflects of the natural sunlight. “Truly,” he breathes, “Even if it were not a weapon, I would find this craftsmanship astounding. Please, tell me more, Lady FRIDAY.”

“Yeah,” Tony croaks from inside the armour. “Do that.”

FRIDAY hovers a gauntlet over the vambrace, arc reactor in the palm lighting up for a half a minute before settling back to its normal glow. The vambraces light up in a similar manner, blue lines crisscrossing in a beautiful patchwork of lines – a juxtaposition of Midgardian technology on Asgardian styled crafting – before it too settles back into nonexistence. The only sign of Thor feeling it is the slight wince on his face, but he doesn’t flinch or look bothered by it.

“Now, if you will,” FRIDAY requests, “Think of a weapon. Maybe Mjolnir. Think of how it usually felt, the heft and grip, the weight of it as you swung. The things it could do.”

Thor curls his fingers inwards, testing a non-existent grip. He steps back to give himself more space, and with the vambrace around his dominant right hand, tests out a few swings, expression set in thought.

“Now,” FRIDAY repeats, “Mentally demand the weapon to be there. In your hand. Like how Boss can call the suit to him without saying anything.”

Nodding, Thor scrunches up his face, sets his feet slightly wider apart, and rears his hand up in a downward swing. Halfway through the swing, the vambrace lights up, the patchwork of lines much more quickly appearing, and-

Thor shouts, pleased and surprised. Because in his hand he holds a hammer, nanites finishing off the last corner, and it looks almost _exactly_ like the hammer he’d held before. The handle is different, no leather Tony thinks, and the colour scheme remains gold. The red has replaced the leather handle, and the hammer head itself glitters like pure gold, polished to a shine.

Thor tests it some more, running through a few different forms, and his expression lights up with every different move. Tony suddenly gets it, where the struggles would be in making an entire suit out of the nanotechnology. Trying to configure the nanites to recognise temperature control alone would be ridiculously difficult, let alone any of the other processes the suits run on their own even without JARVIS or FRIDAY helping in the background. But this? Programming the nanites to respond to minute differences in the hand and wrist to form a weapon and only a weapon? It would be so much easier, especially if all of the groundwork had already been done for the more complex goal of an Iron Man suit.

He even realises _why_ FRIDAY had told Thor to ‘mentally demand’ the weapon into existing. Doing so meant Thor would instinctively put his hand and wrist in the right position that he would’ve held the hammer in anyway, and the nanites would have read _that_ , not his mind. The wince – the initial uplink between the nanites and Thor – meant they’d probably use the electrical signal as well, though Tony can’t for the life of him figure out _how_.

He wants to pull the vambrace off Thor, wants to sit down and open it up, melt it to its very cores and spill its secrets for him to read. His fingers are _itching_ for it, and only the knowledge that he can directly get his hands on the file FRIDAY used keeps him from just grabbing the hammer right out of Thor’s hand.

“It’s not just limited to a hammer,” FRIDAY adds on, as if what she’s already done isn’t amazing enough already. “By all intents and purposes, you should be able to configure it into any weapon you wish. There _is_ a size restriction, though – I’m sorry, but I could only put in so many nanites without risking a cascade failure. By my numbers, a broadsword is feasible, but a greatsword wouldn’t work out. At least, not by Midgardian’s dimensions, I don’t know what dimensions Asgardian blacksmiths would use. If you’re happy with it, you could even divide the nanites so you have a vambrace on each arm; this would allow you to configure something similar to daggers. You just have to place your other wrist on top of the vambraces and it should do it automatically.”

Thor is _ecstatic_ , bouncing where he stands, immediately moving to cross his wrists together. The hammer flows back to his wrist, forming the vambrace, but now half of it slips to his other wrist, and suddenly he has one on either arm, half the size of what the single vambrace had been. He thinks – face puckering up in a hilarious expression – and in the next instance he has two dangerous looking daggers in his hands, and he looks like he’s been given everything he’s ever wanted in one go.

“Lady FRIDAY,” he breathes, clearing his throat when it threatens to crack, staring at the daggers he’s holding in each grasp. “This is- this is… I have no words.”

“It _is_ just a prototype,” FRIDAY rushes to quickly say, “And of course I am no weaponsmith, but I couldn’t help but think it was better than you having no weapon.”

But Thor’s having none of it. “Lady FRIDAY!” He shakes his head, lips pulling into the biggest grin Tony’s ever seen, suddenly making him look so _young_. “You do not have the _slightest_ knowledge of what you have granted me! This…” he holds the weapons up again, crosses his wrists, watches in awe as the daggers bleed into the vambraces and then return to the hammer he’d made first. “This is a great boon, and one that I fear I shall never be able to repay to you.”

Tony’s grinning himself, because his HUD is _drowning_ in code that looks like baby AI panic – clearly, FRIDAY spluttering and blushing, maybe, and it’s _cute_. He takes pity on her, taking back control of the suit as he says, “I think I have an idea.” When Thor looks at him, eager to hear, Tony throws a thumb in the general direction of America. “You can start by using it against some uninvited guests.”

Thor’s grin turns wicked, nodding as he begins swirling the hammer by a loop Tony didn’t notice. It crackles with lightning – surprising them both, though Thor accepts it far quicker than Tony does. “Aye,” he agrees. “You asked if I was ready before, friend Tony. I can now say that I most definitely am.”

Tony powers his repulsors, shoots one last look at the others, seeing that they’ve all already set out to their vehicles, and prepares to fly. Thor swings his hammer, once, twice, generating speed, and the atmosphere crackles around them. He looks bigger, more the godly being he’s named for in that very moment, and electricity sparks off him.

Address inputted, Tony takes the lead, shooting off into the sky, Thor on his trail, and quickly heads for Manhattan.

They have a wizard to save.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thor gets Bleeding Edge technology. Because he couldn't go to that weird smithing place and get that weird stormaxe Groot loses an arm for. (me during that entire scene: ???????)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last few chapters starting from here are not beta'd! hell, i haven't even done my own editing/proof reading. I'll do it after I get it all posted for the deadline + some sleep. ;a;

Manhattan is a warzone when they arrive. Cars are turned over, the air is thick with dust, and the building they land in front of is half destroyed.

They don’t have time to plan – one of the cars flips into the air and comes hurtling at them. Tony shoots into the air to avoid it, and Thor, right vambrace crackling, smacks it down into the ground with his nano hammer.

“This,” he grins, hefting the hammer admirably into the air. “This shall be _fun_.”

Tony’s snorting, the sheer delight on the god’s face lightening the tension into something manageable. His HUD is hard at work, FRIDAY pulling data and feeding it as quickly as Tony’s eyes can take in. There’s a wide perimeter set in place, images of individuals in dark suits popping up on functioning CCTV’s with the NYPD. It explains why the area is quiet – no civilians around. Good.

“Where’s the fight, FRI?”

“Two blocks east, Boss.” FRIDAY answers. “Spiderman has joined – he’s helping Doctor Strange.”

“Spiderwho?”

“Ah,” FRIDAY hesitates, “That’s right, you wouldn’t know. Spiderman,” she begins, an image of a red and blue clad person popping up on his HUD, “Otherwise known as Peter Parker, sixteen year old teenager based in Queens. You’ve unintentionally become something of a mentor to him, and have actively taken him on to avoid much of the pitfalls he could befall.”

Like the accords. Or even SHIELD. But sixteen? _Sixteen?_ “Why the hell would I give myself the headache of a sixteen year old? Wait- what is _that_?”

The horrible costume – is that just a _hoodie_? – flickers away to show a bright eyed teen beaming at a camera. “His initial outfit,” FRIDAY answers. “You didn’t approve. I believe you took him on because you knew he wouldn’t stop doing what he’s doing, and you didn’t want-” her voice crackles, replaced with another, one that quickly sounds exactly like Tony but _wearier_ , “- _more blood on my name._ ”

Tony purses his lips, not sure what to think about that, kinda creeped out at hearing _his_ voice sound so drastically different than what he’s used too. Before he can think more on it, FRIDAY directs him to where the battle is, Thor quick on his heels when he makes his way towards it.

The park they come across is a warzone. The grass is scorched, huge chunks of earth ripped out, and trees lie felled all over the place. Tony spots the two aliens – one thin and normal sized, the other clearly the brawns of the two, and takes it upon himself to sky bomb the latter.

“Mister Stark!” The kid in the red and blue _squeaks_. “Oh man, am I so glad to see you! Wait- is that _Thor?_ Oh. My. _God_. It’s Thor! Sir- uh, your highness? Oh god, I don’t know what to call you but oh my _god_ you’re so _cool_!”

“ _Breathe_ , kid,” Tony interrupts while Thor grins smugly. “And eyes up. Where’s the wizard?”

Kid doesn’t need to answer – Strange _flies_ past them, and the smaller alien flies after _him_. The two land near them, standing off with their hands poised in strange configurations. The smaller alien-

_“You shall spend every living moment from henceforth entirely for the grace of Thanos. Every breath, every step, every thought that comes through your terran mind, will be in the pursuit of our Lord’s most worthy goal.”_

-Ebony Maw.

“There you are,” he says, high nasal tone unchanged. “Man of Iron. You have kept us waiting.”

Only FRIDAY keeps Tony standing, the suit locking up around his knees and shoulders. Tony forces himself past the sudden fogginess in his mind, blinks out the _blue_ colouring his vision with gritted teeth.

“Alas, you have done _one_ aspect of your mission, I suppose,” the withered creep continues. “We know where the mind stone is, thanks to that… contraption you created. ULTRON, was it? His grace Thanos did find it ingenious, I must say. You should think on creating a more… refined version, for our Lord’s use.”

Tony hisses, head spiking harshly, and only barely catches FRIDAY’s quick, “Boss, I think he thinks you’re still under the influence.”

He can’t think past the headache, or the flicker of memories he doesn’t remember – a party, he thinks? Everyone’s there, Thor’s hair is longer, and Mjolnir- Mjolnir’s on the coffee table? What? “And?” He pushes out past clenched teeth, unable to get out more.

Before FRIDAY can respond, the ancient, withered alien circles a hand grandly in the sky, raising his voice euphorically as he says, “In this very moment, as we speak, our Father is set to gain the last of the missing stones! While he gains his rightful ownership of the soul stone, I and Cull Obsidian have been tasked with retrieving the two that are on this pitiful planet. Now, Terrans, hand over the time stone.”

Strange, expression grim, simply answers, “No.”

“Yeah!” Spiderman echoes, bouncing on his heels. “What he said!”

Ebony Maw makes a disgusted noise and tilts his head at Tony. “Do these chattering fools speak for you, Merchant of Death? Get me the time stone already, so we may wipe out half of this horrid planet and be on our way.”

Spiderman’s covered face swings to Tony, body language screaming confusion. Tony’s too busy trying not to vomit, eyes closing against his wishes as his vision wavers sickeningly. The feelings not passing, not like it usually does, and the suit’s HUD flashing red as his vitals start going haywire isn’t helping.

“Sorry, Squidward,” he forces himself to say, knowing he can’t just keep quiet. “I’ve had to cancel our arrange-”

- _Purple, not blue. Mist and fog, obscuring vision. There’s a path in the mountainside, stairs etched into the very stone, snaking their way upwards._

_Large feet take them one by one, clad in the finest of boots, trimmed gold as befitting of his station. He walks alone, his children sent to collect their newest sibling and the stones he’s gathered. He’s-_

_On a cliff. What lies beyond the cliff is the soul stone. Yes. Everything he’s worked for, everything he’s **strived** for. So close. After this, all that shall remain is the time and mind stones, and both of those are all but his. He needs only-_

_A skeleton –_ wait, that’s – _head a bright red, stands in his way, shrouded in dark robes. “The soul stone is no longer here. Hasn’t been for some time.”_

_Impossible. Rage b u r n s –_ Tony’s screaming, he’s sure he’s screaming – _and he demands to know where it is._

_“Taken.” Says the –_ red, no, wait, how _– skull._

_“By who?” He growls, throat rumbling with force._

_The f0g and mist sw1rls, coalescing t0gether an image. The famili0r gaunt face of the tra1t0rous g0dling appears, dark ha1r limp, green eyes p0isonously br1ght in the purple atm0sphere of Vorom1r, and-_

_Red and g0ld arm0ur. Blue l1t eyes. Blue l1t hEaRT-_

_Thanos roars in outrage **-**_

_656e642067616d65_

_-“The little godling is no surprise,” he snarls, “he is as the Chitauri, crawling out of rocks and trash to survive. But **him** ,” sharp anger bu_rns through Tony, stabbing him in the chest _, “He has betrayed me. He has forsaken my mercy.” He throws a hand through the image, dispelling the fog, and-_

Tony _chokes,_ buckling, knees hitting the ground, and- wasn’t FRIDAY holding him up? Wasn’t he on Earth? But then- but then _how,_ how can he feel the force of it, of those _eyes_ boring into him, the _weight_ of their gaze too heavy, _suffocating him_ -

_“You shall both pray for death,”_ Thanos promises him – him as in _Tony_ , as in Tony who _is_ on Earth. He can suddenly tell, without a doubt, that somehow, through space and time, Thanos is _looking_ at him, that Thanos can _see_ him, and that this message is _absolutely_ directly for _him_. _“Especially you, little merchant.”_

And- just like that- the weight is gone.

Tony slumps, panting harshly as he realises with a delayed start that he can see grass, that FRIDAY must have opened up the faceplate at one point or another. His ears are ringing, a high note that’s deafening him to everything else except the high-pitched screech of Maw screaming, “You _dare_! You _dare_ betray our father!”

Shit. Cat’s out of the bag, then.

He’s just about gathered his wits enough to look up, lock eyes with Strange and Thor, just enough wits to gasp, “He’s knows, he knows I’m not on his side anymore. And-” blue lights up his vision, crackles in a sweep up his _spine_ , and Tony’s breath in fear, “-he’s _pissed_.”

Before either Thor or Strange can respond, Maw screams in outrage, air around him steaming. “The audacity! The stupidity! First the little godling, and now _you_? After our Father’s blessing? After the very mercy he’s shown you? Do you pathetic creatures know no loyalty?!”

“Loyalty gained through the subjugation of your prisoners is no loyalty.” Strange disagrees, stepping in front of Tony with his hands raised.

Thor, expression severe, lowers to loop an arm through Tony’s own, helping him up to his feet. “Then we can assume he draws nearer with every passing moment,” he rumbles, eyes dark with emotion. “Stand strong, my friend. Together, we fight.”

Bolstered by the words and FRIDAY helping to stabilise the suit, Tony pulls himself together, inhaling the Manhattan air before slamming the face plate shut.

Ebony Maw _hisses_ , a sharp noise that’s at odds with the composed image he upholds. “I see now that you will not hand over the time stone, betrayer.” He replies, reigning himself in. “In which case, we will just have to pull it off your dead corpses! Cull Obsidian!”

The fight that follows is past faced and intense. Tony falls into the rhythm of it, and somehow, despite never having fought with any of them (aside from actually _fighting_ Thor, once) they all mesh together like one solid team. Strange’s abilities are unusual, Spiderman is _everywhere_ , and he holds off the larger alien’s strength _with one hand_ (“FRI, you said he was a teenager!” “I did, Boss.”). Thor fights like a man possessed, because he _is_ , because the two invaders are part of the group that _killed his people._ Killed his _brother_ -

_“You shall both pray for death-”_ Thanos had said, and wait-

Blue eyes, refusing a drink.

Green eyes, _asking_ for a drink.

_“… both of you…”_

A car gets levitated at his head, Tony stops thinking to duck out of the way, repaying the action with a repulsor blast.

“We need a plan!” He’s shouting, hoping the others will hear him. “We can’t just fight them!”

“A way to contain them,” Strange agrees, his voice somehow sounding directly next to Tony even though he’s pretty much on the opposite side of the park.

“No need for such if we end their miserable lives!” Thor angrily shouts back, the hammer lengthening into a short broadsword that takes out Cull Obsidian’s left hamstring. _Ouch_.

Obsidian swings his axe at the thunder god in retaliation, ridiculously quick for someone his size. The swing lands directly inside a swirling vortex of orange sparks, appearing across the park to slash instead at Maw, who quickly phases out of the way. The vortex slams _shut_ with Obsidian’s arm still half way through- the large alien _screams_ , falling back with the remains of what had been his dominant arm.

Thor raises his weapon, the sharp edge morphing into the blunt familiarity of a hammer. The sky darkens, rumbles echoing the tremor starting up at their feet. Electricity sparks off the hammer as it reaches the zenith of Thor’s swings, travelling down his arm. His eyes- Tony blinks, shaking the bright spots away- his eyes are _blazing white_ , completely obscuring the entirety of it, making him truly look inhuman, _godly_.

“I dedicate this to the worlds you have plundered,” Thor rumbles, “I dedicate this to the _scores_ of innocents you have slain,” the skies above tremble, casting the world grey with the brewing strength of stormclouds. “But most of all,” he promises threateningly, “I dedicate this for my people. For Asgard!”

And he swings.

Lightning _strikes_ the ground, the _boom_ of thunder deafening. Tony’s HUD goes _insane_ , alarms blaring loudly as the light turns him blind. He’s raised his arm to pitifully protect his closed eyes, can hear Spiderman who’s closest to him yelping and hiding behind his armoured bulk. The world _rings_ for an eternity after, the sound of the earth splitting in half lingering dauntingly for pointed moments in the aftermath.

There’s a tension in the air like livewire. Tony feels goosebumps on every part of his skin, prickling in warning. He blinks his eyes repeatedly to regain sight, the alarms still ringing in his ear ceasing abruptly with FRIDAY’s intervention.

Nothing but a stain remains of Cull Obsidian.

Thor rises from his crouch, hammer still thrumming with electric sparks, and faces Ebony Maw. His face echoes his element, thunderous to a fault, and the air around him is hazy, heat thrumming off him in waves.

Ebony Maw lowers his arms from where he’d moved to cover his face. “A grand fate,” he says into the thick tension, “To die for our Lord.”

A crackle bursts in Tony’s ears. _“-ony, do you copy? I repeat, Tony, do you copy?”_ Rhodey.

“Kinda not a good time, bud,” Tony replies back, watching the standoff in front of him.

_“It’s gonna gets worse,”_ Rhodey says grimly, _“We’re ETA ten minutes from the Mansion. More importantly, we found Vision. He’s fighting two of what Nebula and Gamora have identified as the rest of Thanos’ taskforce. Only problem is; he’s in Scotland.”_

_Scotland_? What the ever lovin’ _fuck-_ “ _Why_?” Tony demands, flabbergasted.

_“Apparently that’s where he and Maximoff meet for some personal time,”_ Rhodey answers with disgust. _“What he sees in her I’ll never understand, but fuck if I’m going to be a helicopter parent. He can make his own mistakes. Only problem is, that mistake has him too far away from us to help. None of the guardians have teleportation devices. I asked.”_

Fuck. _Fuck_.

( _“Divide and conquer,” Maw orders, driving the thin air spike deeper and de- “The planet Terra must be ready for my Father’s arrival.”)_

“They fucking planned this,” Tony swears, just as Thor throws himself at Ebony Maw and the two clash violently, shooting debris everywhere. Tony grabs the Spiderkid and shoots into the air to avoid them, blasting away smaller ones to keep his load safe. The spiderkid squeaks, wrapping himself around Tony’s back, legs latching around his wrist. Damn, the kid’s like an octopus. Octokid. Cuter name than _Spiderman_. “Fuck, Rhodey, we’re going to lose the mind stone.”

_“We’re going to lose **Vision**.” _Rhodey corrects grimly, and- shit, that’s right, _Tony_ might not know who the hell Vision is, but _Rhodey_ does; that’s someone he was happy to see just a bit ago. _Shit_. _“We can’t focus on that now, only on what we **can** do. How’s Strange.”_

That’s right, _fuck_ , Tony had almost forgotten. The whole reason Strange is being attacked is because he has the _time stone_. Fuck.

Tony aims a couple of blasts at Maw, knowing full well they’ll be more like insect bites than anything particularly effective. He keeps track of the report FRIDAY has running real time in the corner of his right eye, up to date reports on civilian evacuations and collateral damage estimates. Wincing at the amount they’ve already wracked up in destruction, Tony takes in the destroyed buildings, the rows of cars and store fronts battered and destroyed, and wonders just how much worse it’ll become if they carry on fighting here.

With the accords, they can’t afford to destroy anymore. Sokovia runs through Tony’s mind, reports and visual proof. Lagos. That airport. Public outcry.

Manhattan can’t be another nail in the coffin.

“Rhodey,” he starts, “We can’t fight here. Collateral damage’s gonna sink us.”

Silence for a moment, and then, _“Shit. The accords. You’re fucking right. Maybe the Compound?”_

FRIDAY throws up the coordinates of the Compound, a large property on the outskirts of New York. No near by civilians, from what Tony can tell, and better yet, no chance of collateral damage. Manhattan, on the other hand? Even if SHIELD was keeping the civilians out, the Mayor was going to have a _field day_ if they messed up any more of the infrastructure than they already have. Tony doesn’t even _want_ to think about how bad it was after the invasion.

Yeah. They really _did_ have to relocate.

“Sounds good,” he answers. “Only question is how the hell to get Duros over here to come with.”

He thinks about joining the fight, maybe pissing the alien off so much he follows in a demented form of cat and mouse. But Ebony Maw is different, _works_ differently, and the way he throws off Thor’s ridiculously powerful swings with a wave of a disinterested hand shows that difference. Strange had held his own, though, from what FRIDAY’s shown him while they were flying over. Mystic magic stuff versus mystic magic stuff – but he hadn’t _won_ either.

Better than nothing, though.

Frowning, Tony gently flies over to Strange, uncertain of his Spidercargo’s ability to handle flight and not wanting to test it. Strange – legs crossed _while floating_ – acknowledges their presence with a nod and a frown, though he doesn’t deign to move from his meditative pose. His hands strike out suddenly, and from across the street Thor disappears into a circle of orange sparks and appears behind Maw in the span of a second, not faltering with his downward swing.

Tony’s eyes widen, catching on the orange sparks, on the way Strange circles a hand and the sparks grow larger and smaller in turn. _Holy shit_ , he thinks, idea forming in his mind.

“Holy shit,” Spideyboy squeaks from over his shoulder. “That is _so cool_.”

“Can you do that but long distance?” Tony demands, snapping his faceplate up.

Strange cocks his head curiously, eyes alighting on Tony in thought. “Indeed, I can. Though it must be someplace I’m at least vaguely familiar with.”

Okay, _okay_ , something to work with there, definitely. But he can’t just ask for Vision to get beamed to the Compound if _they’re_ going to go there too. He doesn’t much like the idea of bringing the mind stone _and_ the time stone – wherever the hell it actually is – to the same location. That just sounds like the _worst_ idea ever, and Tony only ever does bad ideas when he’s blindingly drunk.

“Great, wonderful, amazing. Guess what: Vision’s being attacked in Scotland by his own goon squad. Congratulations, you’re not actually special for being the only one targeted. _Speaking_ of being special and targeted,” Tony adds irritably, glaring at Strange, “When were you planning on telling us that, oh, _I don’t know_ , you had the _time stone_ all this _freaking_ time?”

_“If he lies,”_ Rhodey promises grimly, _“I’m going to get FRI to nuke him.”_

Strange, thankfully, looks away in what might actually be guilt, though it’s shorn up with righteousness by the time he looks back. He suddenly snaps back to the fight happening in front of them, hands shooting up to spring an almost translucent, geometric wall that blocks a car barrelling towards them. “A necessary lie by omission,” Strange finally replies, lips thin with tension. “I couldn’t be certain if it was safe to disclose such information. Ah-” he interrupts himself, “-a moment, if you will.”

Thor’s battlecry rings at that moment as he hurls his nano-weapon at Maw. The air ripples unnaturally around the hammer, almost like steam, but the nanites ripple in response and push through, electrical sparks vibrating the air. Strange circles his wrists, orange mandala sparking into existence, and the hammer disappears through a corresponding circle, appearing again right behind Maw’s turned back.

The Titan’s right hand screeches in outrage as he ducks too slow, the weapon clipping him on a shoulder. The effect of it is visibly devastating; his arm droops, useless, shoulder clearly broken if not dislocated. Thor holds out his hand, and somehow – _somehow_ – the nanite-weapon springs back to his right hand like a homing beacon.

(Remind Tony to ask FRIDAY just what the _fuck_ she put in that thing, and why the hell doesn’t he himself already have it?)

But back to the main problem. Strange and his goddamn time stone. Tony scoffs – Rhodey, on the other end of the line, also scoffs. “Yeah, well, cats out of the bag, Merlin. Cough it up,” he demands, fed up. “Where the hell’s the time stone?”

Strange exhales like a mother praying for patience, but he – thankfully – doesn’t argue, waving his hands again in a bizarre formation at chest level before pulling them apart. The huge statement piece he calls a necklace starts glowing faintly, a green glow that grows brighter as what looks like metal plates interlocked start to become undone. Beneath the metal plates is a green gem, glowing as strongly as the gem in Loki’s sceptre did, green instead of blue.

( _there’s a whisper that touches gently, strokes his hair with a mother’s warmth, the sensation of nostalgia heavy on his tongue, tasting like coconut-_ )

“Whoa,” Spiderkid squeaks over Tony’s shoulder, snapping him back to reality. “I feel like I’m missing _tons_ of info, but that, too, is _seriously cool_.”

Tony, on the other hand, is _not pleased_. “I had that thing in my damn _house_?” He snarls, taking an unintended step back from the wizard. “And you didn’t say a _thing_? Fucking _shit_ , Houdini, what if that shit fucked us all up like the mind stone did?”

Strange glowers at him, unconcerned. “I have it perfectly under control,” he snipes, “The eye of Agamotto has been under the purview of the Masters of the Mystic Arts for centuries, if not more.”

“Yeah,” Tony shoots back agitatedly, “And how many have actually made a play for it that your precious Mystic Whatsamajit have had to fight off?”

Strange opens his mouth to confidently answer but comes out with nothing. He pulls a face. “I… am unsure.”

Tony _scoffs_. Rhodey, on the other end of the line, _also_ scoffs.

“Look, Stranger Danger,” Tony pushes out through gritted teeth, “We’ve got a fucked up situation here. Vision’s getting doubleteamed in Scotland, none of the Guardians have teleportation stuff, but you do. But _we_ , and specifically _you_ , with the fucking _time stone around your neck_ , can’t carry on fighting here, in _Manhattan_.”

Understanding slowly dawns across Strange’s face. “The accords,” he realises, stroking a hand across his beard. “After this the Mystic Arts shall no longer be hidden. Yes, it would be prudent to relocate, lest we damage the city further and worsen our standing with the public. But Vision – and the mind stone – must take priority. He is on his own, I presume?” At Tony’s nod, Strange hums, brows furrowing, and says, “Perhaps we should pool our resources, then?”

“Speak English.” Tony snaps, actually snapping his gauntleted fingers as well.

Strange gives him a dirty look, but dutifully clarifies with a question, “How many are fighting Vision?”

_“Two.”_ Rhodey helpfully answers.

“Two.” Tony helpfully repeats.

Strange hums again, and says, “Two there and one here. Three in total. And Thanos is aware of your – by all intents and purposes – betrayal, yes? We can’t afford him sending the rest of his forces to two heavily developed areas. If we met at one point, we could pool our numbers and fight the three off, and then prepare for Thanos’ inevitable retribution.”

That’s the _worst idea_ Tony’s heard since Rhodey in MIT said he – a black kid – wanted to join the _military._ “Kinda don’t like the idea of bringing both the time and mind stone to _one place_.” Tony disagrees with a levelheadedness he should be awarded for.

_“No, fuck, we might have to,”_ Rhodey disagrees with _Tony_ , which is just not _okay_. _“You don’t know Tony, and hell neither does Strange now that I think about it, but Vision’s a powerhouse. He was the only one that could pick up Thor’s hammer, for god sake.”_

Is that a euphemism? Should Tony be concerned? Was there something about Thor’s old hammer that was magical and thus shouldn’t be picked up by lowly mortals? Was _Hela_ able to pick it up? She _did_ destroy it, after all. How did she destroy it, anyway?

“You’re saying we should have the two stones Thanos wants in _one_ location,” Tony repeats, forcibly pulling himself away from his weird thoughts. “You both think that’s actually a good idea.”

_“The Compound’s pretty damn big, Tones,”_ Rhodey explains, though even he sounds like he knows it’s a dumb idea. _“It’s the riskiest shit I’ve ever said but maybe, somehow, we’ll be able to hold the three off and whatever Thanos throws at us with all of us there.”_

The comms crackle, a far louder and jarring noise than Tony would’ve ever allowed in his tech, which makes sense when another voice joins in. _“Don’t count us out, boys,”_ Natashaloff says, barely audible through the static, _“We’ve just entered the state, heading to the Mansion.”_

“Did you just _hack_ into my frequency?” Tony demands incredulously. “You butchered it! The quality’s horrible now!”

_“Divert,”_ Rhodey speaks over Tony, completely ignoring his utterly justifiable outrage. _“Make way to the Compound. We’ve got a plan.”_

Sounds like news to Tony. “Do we?”

_“Yeah,”_ Rhodey replies, steel entering his voice. _“Yeah, y’know what? I think we do. I’m calling Strange.”_

Right on cue, a ringtone trills through the air. Strange looks down at his own chest, surprised, then pats at the multiple folds to pull out a phone. He swipes a finger across it, brings it up to his ear, and, with trepidation, says, “Yes?”

Tony can’t hear the other end, but the way Strange responds, “When, exactly, did you get my number, Rhodes?” gives him a the general idea.

Sighing, Tony leaves them to it, knowing Rhodes will bring Strange up and hash something out with the wizard. He turns to Thor and Maw instead, remembers the koala on his back, and taps at one of the legs around his waist. “Getting off anytime soon, kid?”

“Oh,” says the kid, then a lot more urgently- “Oh! Crap, yeah! Sorry, Mr Stark!"

The kid scrambles off his back, bouncing awkwardly once he’s on his feet. Tony frowns at him, remembering FRIDAY’s quick report, and snaps his faceplate up so he can say, “Rhodey, darlin’, light of my life, what the _fuck_ is up with the Spiderkid?”

_“Spiderman?”_ Rhodey quickly replies, surprised. _“Oh yeah, forgot he’s Queens. Crap, I’m going to hate myself for this, but bring him alone. This could be the fight for our survival, and kid’s got freakish strength.”_

Did… Rhodey just ask him to bring a teenager to… a war?

_“I know,”_ sighs Rhodey, reading him easily. _“It fucking sucks, but I’m not kidding about that strength. I don’t know how he got his abilities, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s a knock-off super soldier serum. Or hell, maybe he’s Rogers’ DNA baby made in a lab, I don’t know. And honestly, kid’s pretty stubborn from what I remember. Even if you ditched him, he’d just swing his way to the Compound anyway. This way, we can at least keep an eye on him.”_

“So we’re really doing this,” Tony sums up, disbelief heavy in his voice. “We’re really gonna bring the time _and_ mind stone to the Compound, together, _at the same time_. And then what, exactly?”

Rhodey doesn’t reply immediately. _“I’m working on that,”_ he finally says. _“You trust me, right?”_

_(_ _“I thought I lost you.” Rhodey’s voice trembles, hands gripping Tony’s own far too tightly._ _)_

Tony inhales, puts his doubts aside, and thinks, _of course, you idiot_.

“Don’t ask stupid questions,” he says aloud instead, scoffing. “Now tell me what to do.”

#

_Distract the alien_ , Rhodey’d said, _while the wizard gets Vision_.

Distract the alien. The alien that’s psychic or something. The alien that waves off _Thor’s_ attacks, never mind theirs. _Yeah,_ that alien.

Tony rolls his eyes, tells the kid the plan, and throws himself into the fight.

For all that he’s complaining though, being back in the suit is _exhilarating._ As far as he remembers he’d last been in the suit – actually _fighting_ in it, that is – when he’d faced Thor in the forest. This suit is lightyears ahead of what he remembers from then, and FRIDAY is more than eager to show him the ropes. The metal moves like a second skin, so drastically different than that very first armour so long ago in Afghanistan, the repulsors at his palms and feet turn slightly warm in a haptic feedback that helps him regulate power output. The HUD has been completely revamped, and the way Tony quickly adapts to it just shows how much superior it is to his old set-up.

He’s jealous. Of who or _what_ , exactly, he doesn’t know. But god _damn_ , is he jealous.

The spiderkid lives up to Rhodey’s words, catching falling cars and webbing all over the place like a monkey rather than his namesake. He swings under and over Thor’s attacks, webbing the hammer and changing its trajectory to take Maw by surprise. Without Strange’s help, keeping Maw on his toes is harder – he glides out of every attack’s way, seemingly omnipresent even when they’re in his blindspot.

Thor growls after the alien dodges yet again, quickly growing frustrated. He’s getting wilder in his swings, working less with them and more against them – hitting harder, throwing himself into instinctive lunges with less and less strategic thought behind them. Maw is pushing back, almost clipping Spidey with a lamppost, the kid barely dodging with a squeaked curse.

“Uuuuuh, Mister Stark?” His voice says through Tony’s comm, quality crisp clear and perfect. “Did Karen put me through? Can you hear me? Because I’m getting kinda worried over here?”

What the fuck. If the kid somehow _hacked_ him Tony’s going to absolutely _lose it_ \- “Who the _fuck_ is Karen?”

“The AI in Spiderman’s suit, Boss,” FRIDAY replies, indicating on his HUD that she’d blocked that question from Spidey’s ears. “You made him his current suit and installed an AI to keep an eye on him.”

Tony can’t believe it. And people _still_ thought he’d just casually make a murderous AI like ULTRON? What the _fuck_. But that aside, _Karen_? “There’s no _way_ I named that AI Karen.”

“You didn’t,” FRIDAY agrees, unaware of the relief that shoots through Tony at the confirmation. “He did.”

Dear _god_. No wonder the kid needed protecting.

“You’re through, kid,” he answers, blinking away the block. “Eyes front, we got a plan. Just need to keep at it for a little bit longer.”

A little bit longer turns out to thankfully only be three more minutes before Strange flags down Spidey and the kid relays, “Magic guy says he’s ready, Mister Stark! We have to all get in one place as much as we can!”

Including Maw. Shit. Tony gets an idea as he sees the kid swing around and runs the numbers. Strange and Thor don’t have comms, meaning he can’t hash out the finer details with either of them, and his idea has an unreasonably high margin of error, but it’s the only thing he can think off. “Kid, those webs of yours, they can subdue someone?”

Spidey goes, “Uuh, yeah? If they can’t break out because of super strength then they’ll stay stuck for a couple of hours.”

Okay, okay, _good_. “Okay, here’s the plan. I’m going to go in close with Thor and rush Maw. I need you to come in under our shadow and use the first chance you get to web the sucker up. As soon as you’ve done that, get in as close as you can and I’ll drag Thor in. Strange’ll beam us to the Compound.” A thought hits him- _shit_. “Stay behind us though, kid. If Maw breaks out of your webs back the _fuck_ up, got it?”

“Yes sir!” The damn teenager agrees.

Fucking _hell_ , Tony agreed to be a superhero, not a _responsible adult_.

Fighting more aggressively means increasing the likelihood of injury, but Tony goes in anyway. He spins and takes sharp turns, plays dirty with the laser in his left gauntlet, throws already smashed up cars at Maw for once. Thor echoes him, ramping up the violence, and the two of them take turns trading off with Maw struggling to fend off the onslaught.

He’s so focused on every move, reading his HUD as quickly as FRIDAY can put information up, that he startles when Spiderman appears out of nowhere shooting his webs at an unsuspecting Maw. The white strands wrap around the alien, slamming his arms to his sides, and the kid slings around a lamppost expertly, encasing Maw entirely in his web.

Tony slams the faceplate up and shouts, “Thor, heads up!” before _slamming_ into the Asgardian, and the kid shouts and throws himself after them just as orange sparks circle over them all, growing larger than Tony’s seen before, and- suddenly-

He sees (- _a portal, rippling blue, and darkness on the other side. an army spanning the horizon, terrifying in it’s might. and he falls, falls, falls, through darkness, through Void, and-)_ the wide expanse of blue sky above him, inhales in fresh air, sees a lone building that already looks half destroyed, and-

“Now!”

Electricity _crackles_ in the air, Ebony Maw’s screams rising as the voltage rises. Tony feels the small hairs on his arms stand to attention, feels the charge vibrate in his teeth, and shuts his eyes against the bright flash in front of him and holds on to Thor in his arms.

It settles, Maw’s screams cutting off and leaving Tony’s ears ringing. In the deathly silence that follows, Tony cracks open one eye, then the second, and quickly does a head count of those around him. Thor’s pulled himself half out of Tony’s arms, standing on his own feet. Spiderman’s on Tony’s other side, hiding behind the armour’s bulk, and Strange floats to the floor beside them. They’re in a lab of silver chrome and metal, dust covering every surface save for the fixture at the very end. It- it looks familiar to Tony, in a sense, something niggling him about the strange small room at the very end – the mattress on the floor, the chair and table, the way it looks to have no door or partition.

Ebony Maw lies on the floor, weakly trying to push himself up, elbows wobbling. He snarls in frustration, throws a hand from the chair to them, and the chair follows only to hit a translucent wall that ripples green.

A translucent wall that ripples a very… familiar green.

Thor’s expression is stiff and severe. Tony quietly thinks that he looks the complete _opposite_ of happy.

Something crumbles from above Tony – he snaps his attention up, sees a- a _hole_? – in the ceiling, a roof beyond, and??? Is that Nebula? That _is_ Nebula! More bits of lose concrete fall from the hole as the woman pulls herself through and drops down, Gamora following in her wake. Tony sees Quill and Groot peer through the hole, but neither follow the two women.

“I’m surprised it actually worked,” Nebula grumbles, stalking towards Maw’s room- cell?- and touching thin air. Her fingertips hit the invisible wall again, green rippling like water droplet across a still lake before disappearing once more. “I was unaware Terra had such technology.”

“It does not.” Thor answers, voice a threatening rumble, eyes fixed on the cell. “What you see is ancient magicks from Asgard. My father held our most dangerous enemies in the dungeons below the great palace with such magicks. And that green…” He turns his head, gaze landing on Tony. “What is the meaning of this, friend Tony?”

“For once in his life, this isn’t actually on Tony.” Rhodey’s voice calls from their right. He’s in his wheelchair, pulling away from a desk with a holographic screen still up. “This?” He waves a hand at Ebony Maw’s new cell, and suddenly, FRIDAY’s going crazy and taking control of the suit and Tony inside it, weapons at the ready. “This is _his_ idea.

War Machine steps into view.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> War Machine! *le gasp*


	11. house cleaning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can clearly tell how i threw away my entire plan for this fic and ended up writing something _completely different_ in these next few chapters _on the spot._ don't do this kid. don't.

_Fog and mist. A mountaintop. Stairs scraped into the very stone. Leading upwards. Up and up and up._

_He’d fallen, once._

_They’d both fallen, once._

_Fallen into the Void. At different times-At ThE sAME timE-and lived to never tell the tale._

_Fog and mist. A mountaintop. A summit._

_Another fall._

_“I have much to atone for.” whispers the one with a silver tongue. “I have-” water rushes in, drowning the words, freezing them on the tip of a barbed tongue._

_Fog and mist. A mountaintop. And below – a stone._

_“I do not have a soul.” says the Voice. “I do not-” static overflows, obscuring the words. white noise rings, rings, rings until it suddenly shuts off._

_Fog and mist. A mountaintop. Another fall-_

_The puzzle clicks in place._

_Fog and mist. A mountaintop. Another f_

_a_

_l_

_l._

#

_“You’ve landed?”_ Rhodes had said over the line. _“Yeah, FRI’s got eyes on you. Okay, got some people heading your way. Friendlies. Don’t shoot.”_

Friendlies. _Friendlies_.

Rhodes had known exactly what he’d been asking for when he’d said _don’t shoot_.

Natasha sucks in air as she looks around at the destroyed marketplace. Around her, the three robed individuals that had appeared out of thin air move rubble and ruined infrastructure to safer grounds. They’d appeared as soon as their transport borrowed from Wakanda had landed in New York, and with a twist of their wrists had opened up a portal straight to Scotland right in time to save Vision.

“I don’t like it,” Clint grumbles next to her, sitting on the ground wincing at his sprained ankle. “Who are they? Where did they come from? _How_ do they do the things they do and why didn’t we know about them? You think Fury knows?”

And just never thought to tell Natasha and Clint? Possible. More than possible. Fury only gave out information when it was direly needed. Natasha nods, slapping Clint’s hand away from his ankle when he fiddles with the bandages again. “Wouldn’t be surprising. They introduced themselves as masters of the mystic arts. Say Strange sent them.”

Clint yelps at the slap, throwing her a wounded look even as he subsides. “Yeah, _Strange_. Strange ‘bout that too, isn’t he? You know him?”

She shakes her head. “Doctor Stephen Strange, neurosurgeon. Had an injury that took him out of the game. Went off the grid and suddenly popped back up again recently.” Hesitantly, unwillingly, she adds. “… With Stark and Rhodes.”

She regrets it as soon as Clint’s expression turns stormy. “Yeah, why am I not surprised. Probably cooking something up with that batshit Star-” He pauses, face turning pinched, and surprises her by sighing explosively. “Fuck, that’s not right, is it? Guy was brainwashed. Shit. Can’t even begin to wrap my head ‘round that.”

Neither can Natasha. She hums noncommittedly.

The earbud in her right ear buzzes, coming to life with the staticky connection she’d hijacked her way into. _“Romanoff?”_ Rhodes’ voice comes through, questioning. _“You guys good?”_

She stands straight, surveying the area, noticing Rogers’ with Maximoff, Wilson and Vision, and nods. “We’re good. Vision’s safe, no injuries on our end either. The two aliens escaped. Your wizard friends scared them off.”

_“Affirmative. When you’re ready they’ll bring you guys to the Compound.”_

Getting ready only takes a little bit longer. SHIELD operatives bleed out of the darkness and take over the government duties, allowing them to sneak off to a dark alley where the robed wizards continue to refuse to answer any of the conversation starters Maximoff or Wilson attempt.

“If you are ready,” the lone woman says, “We shall return you to the Compound where your comrades are.”

The circle widens against one of the walls, showing green fields and blue sky on the other end. Vision leads the way, heedless of any danger as he steps through the portal, the rest of them following hesitantly. Maximoff shudders as she passes through, looking uncomfortable, but says nothing of the magic.

Interestingly enough, Natasha notes, the wizards don’t follow them. The portal closes shut between them.

Past the entrance and to the living room, Natasha notes the lack of damage to the infrastructure, how everything looks the same as when she’d last left it. No battle happened here, but _something_ has. Rhodes sits in his wheelchair, War Machine at his side, with the Guardians scattered haphazardly around. Stark is notable sitting on the breakfast island, the red and gold Iron Man armour standing sentry at one shoulder, Thor, Strange and Spiderman (Spiderman?) at the other.

She thinks she feels a tension in the air, thinks she can see it in the stiff body language of the Guardians, in the way that Nebula and Gamora warily hover their hands over their weapons. Suspicious of the ex-Avengers? Or of something else?

“Vision!” Rhodes’ greets, immediately navigating his wheelchair to Vision – the two quickly meet up in the middle of the room, and Natasha can’t help the way her lips twitch at Vision letting Rhodes fuss over him, apologising in his polished accent for causing such a fuss. The way Stark fails to show any concern dampens the heartwarming moment – of all of them, he’d been the most avid supporter of Vision’s attempts to learn the world, doing everything to keep him out of the media’s limelight. But this Stark? This Stark – if what Rhodes had said was true – this Stark didn’t _know_ Vision, and _this_ Stark didn’t care.

“So?” The human looking guardian speaks up, grabbing her attention. “You got the mind stone, but where are Thanos’ goons?”

“They escaped,” Rogers’ reports, frowning disapprovingly at the guardian. “We didn’t give chase as our priority was making sure _Vision_ was safe.”

“You mean you _let_ them escape,” Quill shoots back, crossing his arms defensively over his chest. “Shit, they could be anywhere right ‘bout now!”

Clint – leaning against an unscathed pillar – sighs and says, “Look, we didn’t have much of a choice, yeah? The wizards were keeping them off us pretty great, we almost had them, but then they just suddenly freaked mid-battle, said something about Volo-whatever, and bounced.”

Attention caught, Nebula leans forward, eyes sharp, and growls, “They said something about _what_? You must know the name, it could be our only warning for what is to come.”

“Sorry, Volo-something,” Clint shrugs. “Too busy trying not to get my head cut off.”

Vision starts to say something, catches himself, and hesitates. Rhodes frowns at him, catching the movement, and asks, “What is it, Vision? Not like you to hesitate.”

She can’t make out Vision’s face – he’s facing away from her – but the way his head tilts in the direction of the breakfast counter where Stark, Thor and Strange are is… strange. Rhodes’ gaze follows, and realisation dawns on his face just as Stark, lounging back against the counter, pulls a face and says, “What? Me? Say what you want, I doubt anything’ll happen. Thanos already knows I’m not batting for the crazy side anymore.”

“… Boss…” The red and gold Iron Man armour cautions, female voice identifying her as FRIDAY.

Stark waves her off with an eye roll. “Puh- _lease_ ,” he huffs, “Even if it _does_ do something maybe I’ll see or remember something helpful.”

Vision still hesitates before turning to Rhodes who mulls it over and sighs. “We have to know. And Tony’s right – every other time he’s… _reacted_ … he’s remembered something or other. It’s a risk, but… we don’t really have much of a choice.”

“I see,” Vision replies, not sounding particularly pleased. “Very well, then. I was able to indeed hear my attackers words. It seemed they became quite agitated about a betrayal amongst their midst. That of a… Merchant? They also mentioned a place named Voromir.”

Something clattered – a dagger, fallen on the ground. Gamora’s green skin has impossibly turned paler. “Voromir?” She breathes, clutching a hand against her sister’s shoulder, knuckles bleaching from the grip. “No. It cannot be. That is where I have heard the soul stone is. We have failed if he has it.”

“The power stone, the space stone, the reality stone,” breathes Banner, eyes wide, “and now the soul stone. That’s four stones out of six. And the remaining two…”

“… Are right here.” Rogers finishes, frowning. “Did we find the time stone, then?”

Strange stands straighter, cloak fluttering at his back. He taps a finger at his necklace. “The Eye of Agamotto has been under the protection of the masters of the mystic arts for centuries. That being said, I, as the Sorcerer Supreme, understand the severity of this situation. We cannot allow Thanos to gain possession of either of these stones.”

“Actually,” Stark frowns, tapping a finger against his bottom lip in thought. “No, no I don’t think Thanos has the soul stone.”

Everyone stares at him.

“Tony,” says Rhodes, “Tony, what do you mean?”

Still frowning, Stark squints at the ceiling and says, “So the two said crap about betrayal, right? That’s me – they and squidward downstairs figured out I’m no longer under the mind stone’s bullshit, right? Probably why they said Merchant too, since-” he waves a hand down at himself theatrically, smirk flashing, “-Merchant of Death. Haven’t heard that in a hot second. _But_. Thanos was _pissed_ too, and he was pissed at _me_. And I mean that _personally_.”

“Tony,” repeats Rhodes, expression pinched and exasperated. “Tony, what the fuck did you _do_?”

“Hey!” Stark replies defensively, Spiderman smothering a snicker behind him, “I did nothing! But, and my head’s real foggy on this so don’t quote me, pretty sure I heard that the soul stone wasn’t there- purple place, right?” He turns to Gamora, who, surprised at the sudden switch, nods. “Yeah, so pretty sure the soul stone hasn’t been there for some time. Also pretty sure Thanos told me that I’ll be praying for death. Called me little merchant. I’d be insulted by the ‘little’ comment but the guy was pretty damn huge so I’ll let it slide.”

“Wait,” Wilson asks, confused, “So does this mean Thanos guy thinks _you_ took the soul stone? Or had something to do with it?”

Stark shrugs, acting unconcerned. “Does it matter? All it means is that purple guy doesn’t have the soul stone.”

“It _does_ matter,” Nebula disagrees, staring at Stark with confusion. “You were under his control, you _should_ have been acting for his sake. But for him to believe you to be acting _against_ him means…”

“… He had reason not to trust you to begin with.” Gamora finishes, also staring at Stark. “You also did not deliver the mind stone to him, despite being aware of its location for years.”

“Nor the time stone,” Strange adds, head tilted, eyes on Stark. “Despite the fact that it was _you_ that searched _me_ out.”

Stark clears his throat, arms crossing over his chest. “Yeah well, whatever. Still doesn’t mean much.”

“It means a part of you must have actively been rebelling against the control,” Natasha corrects, “Just as Clint shot Fury in the chest and not the head, or how Selvig built in a failsafe for the tesseract. You never delivered on your orders, whatever they were.” Out of the corner of her, she catches Clint’s guilty grimace. Whether it’s guilt over the still remaining feelings of responsibility for his own stint under Loki’s control or his treatment of Stark afterwards, she can’t tell.

“Perhaps the mewling quim in the cell below may be able to answer that,” Thor offers, dipping his head to the hole in the ground. “Or at the very least on where his brethren may have cowardly run to.”

Natasha frowns, just as Rogers asks, “Wait, you mean you caught one?”

“Ebony Maw,” Nebula answers with a sneer. “He is in the cage down below.”

Bruce- “There’s a _cage_?”

Rhodes nods at the hole, and Natasha follows everyone in going towards it, peering over the still crumbling edge to the- silver and chrome. Polished tiles. The edge of a chair and mattress, and- an alien, rumpled and beaten, sitting against a wall, sneering up at them.

… Huh.

“Since when the _hell_ was there an _entire lab_ beneath the Compound?” Clint demands, staring bogeyed down the hole. “Holy shit, I think I would’ve noticed an _entire lab_ underneath the _Compound_!”

Vision frowns, also peering down it, and quite certainly says, “There was no lab beneath the Compound. This… is recent.

Recent in the sense that it’s _after_ Maximoff had plunged him through the earth, then.

That… did little to calm Natasha’s nerves.

“How did we know we’d have a way to contain him?” Wilson asks, staring at the alien with disgusted wonder. Right, he wasn’t used to _this_ side of being a superhero, was he? The aliens and magic and technology out of this world.

“War Machine.” Rhodes answers, which- no, that’s not an answer at all, is it? “He set this up and told me.”

“ _Told_ you?” Rogers. “What?”

Rhodes doesn’t deign to clarify his answer, instead adding, “Yeah, and he didn’t do it alone.”

Natasha feels the small hairs on the back of her neck stand to rise, sees Clint equally stiffen from the corner of her vision, and as one they both spin on the newcomer that’s somehow creeped up behind them.

Coulson smiles blandly in return.

“Hello, everyone.” He says pleasantly. “It’s been a while.”

#

_“We have run out of time.”_

_“We did not have time to begin with. Midgard?”_

_“Indeed.”_

_“Very well, then. To our deaths we go.”_

#

“I’m not at liberty to say much,” Coulson says, deflecting yet another question with a straight face. “But what I can say is this. Stark found me, offered his services to allow SHIELD to continue operating quietly in the background, but in return wanted _our_ silence about some of the stuff he was acquisitioning. Of course, I kept an eye on it, but it was just fabrication units and other stuff to build a lab, and I didn’t think much of it until ULTRON. I thought I’d made a mistake allowing Stark’s paranoia to run rampant, so I broke into the areas he’d been sending all his under-the-table tech to, and realised all of them were closed circuits. None of it would’ve – or could’ve – been touched by ULTRON.”

“Then what the hell was he makin’ in there?” Rocket grumbles, lounging against a slightly singed sofa. “All this blabberin’ is makin’ me tired. Does it even matter?”

Coulson shrugs, a simple up down of his shoulders, unconcerned.

“Why didn’t you stop it?” Natasha asks, not blinking when Coulson’s gaze lands on her. She stares back at him, unyielding, remembering the moment she’d heard of his apparent death. “Why didn’t you mention it to anyone else?” _To us_.

Aiming a hand at War Machine, Coulson says, “Him, mostly. I realised that whatever the hell was going on here wasn’t for fabricating _suits_ , exactly, but for something else. This guy was the only individual I saw at either site – never saw any sign of Stark even remotely visiting the labs. Whatever the hell was going on, War Machine was the AI in charge.”

A throat clears, Spiderman raising a hand when everyone looks to him. “Hi, uh, sorry – but I’m… super confused?? Who’s in War Machine? Karen tells me FRIDAY is Mister Stark’s AI which explains why Mister Stark’s suit is all bad ass on it’s own, but I didn’t realise War Machine was, like, another AI as well.”

“Also, you said _sites_ ,” Banner adds, concerned. “What sites? How many are they? _Where_ are they? I’m guessing the Compound is one.”

“Two,” Coulson agrees, nodding. “This, and the Stark Mansion.”

Rhodes curses, sharing a look with Thor of all people. “I knew that lab wasn’t there before. And Tony would’ve never built one or updated the old one under the mansion. He hates that building.”

Stark huffs. “Damn right I do.”

“I believe we are all pleased to see you well, Son of Coul,” says Thor, smiling grimly, “Though I must confess to wondering how the story of your demise came to be.”

“Classified.” Coulson replies, straight faced.

“Be that as it may,” presses Thor, smile disappearing. “It was my brother that supposedly gave the final blow. I would request of you the answer as to what, exactly, transpired between you both.”

“Exactly what you heard, no doubt,” Coulson answers pleasantly. “I attempted to apprehend him with an experimental prototype, he stabbed me.”

“… Didn’t you say your brother stabbed you loads, Thor?” Rocket asks curiously. “Sounds like your bro really likes stabbing things.”

“… Yes. It is just not often those that he stabs survive to tell the tale.” Thor agrees.

“A cowardly weapon,” Ebony Maw’s high, nasally voice, drifts from the hole to the lab below. “For a cowardly little runt of a godling.”

Thor _growls_ , shoving forward past Stark and Strange’s attempt to hold him back. “You _dare_ -”

The alien laughs – Natasha sees him pull himself forward to better stare up at them through the hole. “You believe to have defeated us, but it is _you_ that has been defeated.”

“Kinda doesn’t sound like it, blabbermouth,” Stark shoots back, scowling down at the alien. “You’re stuck in a cage, your two friends did a runner, and Purple Prick doesn’t have the soul stone. Looks to me like you’re losing. _Badly_.”

Maw spreads his arms widely as he says, “You are blind, little merchant. Don’t you see it? How the universe itself conspires to grant my lord his wishes? The time stone _and_ the mind stone, right here, gathered perfectly for his taking. And the traitor, _you_ , ready for the slaughter.” He laughs, digs a hand into one of his many folds, and pulls out a round device. “You really should check your prisoners before locking them away.”

He presses the device. It beeps.

“Shit!” Rocket shouts, the guardians falling into attack formation. “That’s a goddamn tracker! _Fuck_!”

“Intruder alert.” FRIDAY intones, War Machine falling into step with her, both of them stepping towards the floor to ceiling windows. “Perimeter breach. One- two- three heat signatures.”

“He is here.” Ebony Maw laughs, high pitched and cracked. “My lord! Thanos! You are here!

Outside the windows, across the green field, a portal swirls into existence, widening to show a world of fog and mists. Three silhouettes walk through, the portal swirling shut behind them, and-

“Thanos.” Gamora hisses, dagger in her hand.

The being in the middle stands the tallest, purple skin stretching across a bald head. His broad shoulders are covered in armour, and on one hand he wears a gold gauntlet that extends past the wrist. Natasha knows the two at either side of him – the male and female aliens they’d fought off in Scotland, the ones that had attacked Vision – and connects the dots.

Thanos and the two aliens that had run away.

“We’ve run out of time.”

#

_Voice Input, Gamora, Guardian: Thanos._

_Thanos identified._

_Parameters set._

_Code: 656e642067616d65_

_Input Key…_

_Input: WARMACHINEROX_

_Key accepted._

_Initiate Protocol? y/n_

_Input: y_

_Input accepted._

_Initiating Protocol._

_Time till completion: 00:38:23_

_Time till completion: 00:38:22_

_Time till completion: 00:38:21_

_Time till comple-_

#

Tony climbs into the waiting suit of armour, FRIDAY shutting him in safely from the coming battle. He keeps the faceplate up, keeps his eyes on Thanos, refusing to look away from the solid gaze that looks back at him.

“Thanos.” Thor snarls, vambrace morphing into his new favourite weapon, hand gripping tightly around the handle.

The windows slide open, allowing them all to step out into the field, forming an opposing line to Thanos and his entourage.

“Little merchant,” the titan greets, attention still solely on Tony. “To think that somehow, you would find a way to betray me even under the mind stone’s influence.”

“Not the first one,” Tony points out, cocking an eyebrow. “Maybe you just suck at the whole influencing thing. Should take a look at Instagram. They got tons of influencers.”

“Cease your prattling,” growls Thanos, holding up his gauntlet. Six indentations are visible in the gold metal, three filled with sparkling stones that glow. “You will hand the stones to me at once. All three of them.”

Three? The mind and time stone are here, but-

Oh. Thanos thinks _Tony_ has the soul stone. But then… that begs the question – who _actually_ has it?

(- _familiar gaunt face, dark, limp hair, green, poisonous eyes and too pale skin._

_“The little godling is no surprise,”-_

_“You shall both pray for death,”-_

_“blue suits you,” says the would-be conqueror, bright green eyes drowning in blue._

_“unlike you,” he replies, and-)_

“No.” Tony replies, blinking away green eyes watching him in a park as Tony struggles to surface from the blue. “I don’t think I will.”

Thanos’ face twists into rage, he raises his gauntlet further, thumb and middle finger touching moments before snapping as his two soldiers lunge at them.

The Avengers – Guardians and all – throw themselves into the fight. Tony moves to join but stops just as Nebula and Gamora clash with the female soldier, Rogers and his crew taking on the male. He turns around to Rhodey, still in the wheelchair, and demands, “You need to get the hell out of here. Strange-”

“-Isn’t doing shit.” Rhodey cuts him off, glaring. “I’m not going anywhere, Tony.”

“Rhodey-” Tony starts, growling in frustration. “Rhodey, it’s too dangerous. You have to go.”

“Not. Going. Anywhere. Tony.” His friend grits out, stubborn. “Even if I go, my survival depends on you guys winning. I can’t do shit, not with this-” he slams a hand against the wheelchair. “So at the very least I’m going to… do something, I guess. Maybe act as eyes for you guys.”

“Rhodey…”

“Don’t, Tony.” Rhodey sighs. “I don’t regret what led me here, even if you can’t remember it. But it sucks. Just gotta deal with it.” He looks up, eyes landing on War Machine, and sighs again. “Kinda miss riding the big guy, though. Was fun while it lasted.”

War Machine’s eye slots grow brighter as the helmet… cocks to the side, almost thoughtful. The suit remains silent, just staring at Rhodey, before-

-before opening up, interlocking metal pieces sliding open to show the cavern inside, waiting for its rider.

“Oh,” FRIDAY says in Tony’s ear, surprised. “War Machine has… opened communications.”

What the fuck.

Rhodey stares at the waiting suit, mouth open. He snaps it shut quickly, a pained grimace crossing his face as he shakes his head. “I… I don’t think my body’s anywhere near ready for that, War Machine…”

The suit… _ripples_.

“Oh,” FRIDAY repeats, sounding even more surprised. “Oh! Fascinating! Boss, Colonel, it looks like War Machine’s implemented aspects of the Bleeding Edge technology to itself. It’ll be able to redistribute nanites to support you. Oh, I hadn’t even thought of that.”

“But then that means-”

A heavy shout interrupts them, Quill crashing into the living room and bouncing back up to his feet, frazzled. “You two lovebirds gonna carry on chatting or-?” He throws himself back outside again, boosters leaving a streak of bright fire behind him.

Tony watches Rhodey stare longingly at War Machine. “It’s up to you, Rhodey. I’d rather not have you here, and I’d be blackmailing Strange into getting you out, but-”

“I’d just find my way back.” Rhodey answers, just like Tony knew he would. “I… You sure, War Machine?”

War Machine, still open, gives a thumbs up.

(Since when did _War Machine_ have his own AI? Tony has _questions_ -)

-Rhodey smiles.

“Then guess I’m suiting up too.”

#

_Time till completion: 00:28:46_

_User RHODEY: active_

_Implement Bleeding Edge? y/n_

_Time till completion: 00:28:45_

_Input: y_

_Bleeding Edge implemented._

_Injury: Spinal injury. L4. Complete. Noted._

_Implementing Bleeding Edge Formation Pheta._

_Bleeding Edge Formation Pheta implemented._

_Time till completion: 00:28:44_

#

Tony really wants to hit Thanos. Thor really wants to hit Thanos. _Gamora_ really wants to hit Thanos.

None of them can get a damn hit in on Thanos.

Every time they get even remotely close to landing a hit, Thanos uses either the space stone or the reality stone to avoid their hits. He taunts Gamora by turning into bubbles, blinks out of existence only to pop up behind Thor and land a powerful hit, grabs Tony by the foot and swings him into the ground like a ragdoll.

It’s endless, and it’s _frustrating_.

Tony takes to the skies, Rhodey following him. Some of the Avengers and Guardians have teamed up to keep Thanos’ underlings at bay. Thor and Gamora take turns at Thanos, Nebula and the occasional others turning to take what potshots they can. Spiderman proves to be the only one that can glance off an actual blow from Thanos – though Nebula warns him not to get hit by the arm wearing the gauntlet.

“Uh, guys?” Bruce’s voice filters through their comms. “No luck. Can’t turn into the Hulk – he’s not having it.”

Tony frowns, divebombing Thanos with repulsor blasts that do nothing. “Then _make_ him have it! Kinda need the big guns here, Brucey.”

“I can’t!” Bruce complains. “He’s not listening to me!”

“Then maybe you need different big guns,” says Rhodey with a grin. “War Machine’s got a present for you.”

Tony ducks out of the way of a haymaker before he can say anything, barely missing the gauntlet. He doesn’t miss the shockwave that follows, the force of the swing knocking him clean off his feet. God _damn_ , he thinks, the power stone isn’t a joke. That thing can take his head off with ease.

“FRI,” he gasps, launching himself away from Thanos’ foot stomp. “Update, please.”

“Incoming,” FRIDAY replies helpfully, which isn’t actually helpful in the slightest. “Dr Banner, please approach the east entrance.”

Spiderman swings into view, kicking the guy – Corvus Glaive, from what Nebula’s hissed – in the chest before landing besides Tony. “Mister Stark? Why’s Karen telling me Veronica is coming? Who’s Veronica?”

Veronica? _Veronica?_ What the _fuck_ is going on with his AI’s?

“FRI?” Tony demands, barely missing _grass blades_ trying to _stab him_. God _damn_ , the reality stone is _overpowered_. “First War Machine and now VERONICA? What the _hell_ is going on with all my damn AI’s? Next you’re going to tell me DUM-E’s got a base on the _moon_.”

“Not that I’m aware off, Boss,” FRIDAY happily replies. “I like VERONICA. She’s nice.”

And that’s when VERONICA lands with an explosive _thump_.

Even Thanos pauses, all of them taking in the humongous Iron Man suit that lumbers to its full height. It stands well clear of seven feet, large enough to challenge the Hulk – _exactly_ large enough to challenge the Hulk, Tony realises as he skims through the file FRIDAY helpfully ( _actually_ helpfully) throws up.

“Stark,” Rocket’s scratchy voice says into the silence. “I can’t believe you hid this _beaut_ from me.”

“Kinda don’t remember,” Tony rolls his eyes. “Need to remember to be able to _hide_ something.” But even he’s impressed. And apparently, from the noises Bruce is giving as he clambers in, so is he.

“KAREN has transferred over Baby Monitor Protocols, Boss.” Says FRIDAY, as if Tony will understand what that means. “It should help you pilot the suit, Dr Banner.”

“Uuh… thanks?”

And VERONICA proceeds to _decimate_ Thanos’ children.

“In the cell!” Rhodey shouts, moving in to help Bruce. “It should be able to hold them three!”

Tony leaves them to it, focusing back on Thanos who watches indifferently as his so-called children are ferried into their cages. The woman – Black Midnight’s – outraged scream echoed by Rhodey and Bruce’s cheers prove Earth’s victory.

Thanos huffs a laugh.

“I find myself…” he says slowly, thoughtfully, “Impressed, despite it all. Your will is strong, little merchant. I knew as such, and yet, I thought I had broken it, or made it subservient to myself. I must thank you.”

“Thank me?”

“Indeed,” Thanos smiles, holding his gauntlet up and admiring it in the glint of the sun. “I had forgotten the singular truth that my goal would be difficult, and that it would be this difficulty that would make it worthy. Things had become… too _easy_ … these past few centuries, especially with the acquisition of my children. You– _This_ – has reminded me once more that I must strive to better myself if I wish to better the universe, and all of existence in it.”

“You have my respect, Stark.” He finishes, pointing the gauntlet at him, the red, blue and purple stones glowing. “When I’m done, I shall endeavour to leave half of humanity alive. I hope they remember you for it.”

( _Time till completion: 00:21:06)_

Like hell. Earth is under _his_ protection. He _privatised_ world peace. He-

“You shall _not_ harm Midgard,” Thor rumbles, eyes beginning to turn bright again. “Not anymore than you already have. You have caused far too much strife in the Nine Realms and beyond, and I, Thor, son of Odin and God of Thunder, shall stand for it no more.”

The sky darkens, clouds rumbling into existence, a cold wind kicking off. Tony’s seen this before, and he’s not stupid enough not to put one and one together and get two. He grabs Spiderkid and gets the hell out of range, Gamora and her sister catching on and following suit.

Thor and his weapon throw off sparks, electricity hitting the ground and singing the grass. Tony’s HUD reads rising static in the air, the rapid weather changes obvious on his screen. It reminds him of the first time he’d fought Thor in the forest, when Thor had raised his hammer and struck Tony with the inhuman lightning he wielded, and-

Oh. Wait. Now _there’s_ an idea. Actually-

“FRI, we still got the unibeam in this mark?”

FRIDAY replies, “… Yes?”

Tony grins, idea solidifying in his head.

“Strange, you got a comm on?”

“I do.”

“Great. Got an idea.”

“Three words that greatly concern me.” Strange deadpans. “Spit it out, then.”

Tony won’t let Hagrid dim his excitement. He tells Strange the plan, ignores Strange repeatedly saying how _dangerous_ and _idiotic_ the idea is and _are you suicidal? Really, are you actually suicidal?_ and insists he do it.

Thor raises his hammer just as the sky completely darkens, just as his eyes are completely blazing white. “You shall terrorise the universe no longer! _FOR ASGARD!”_

And he _strikes_.

But Thanos has been nigh impossible to land a hit in all this time, fazing out of existence or simply transporting himself out of range. He does the same again, not even deigning to look worried about the attack, but- the lightning bolt disappears into the ground, the orange sparks that would’ve indicated a portal hidden by the too bright light, and Tony-

Holy _shit,_ now _there’s_ a familiar feeling.

The lightning hits him full on, his HUD goes _crazy_ , power levels going off the chart just as it had what only feels like yesterday for him. Thanos isn’t looking at him, still facing an enraged Thor that throws himself at the Titan in anger. Tony uses the distraction to power up the unibeam, pouring every single _bit_ of energy into the arc reactor in his chest, digging his feet in, brightening up when Rhodey slots his shoulder into Tony’s back to hold him up, and-

( _Time till completion: 00:18:56)_

-he _shoots_.

Thanos fazes out of existence, the blue beam threatens to hit Thor face on, but Strange intervenes and sticks a portal in between them, directing the beam to-

-above Thanos, shooting down. The Titan looks up, eyes widening, and-

It hits.

Somehow, the attack connects, and Thanos _roars_ , arms above his head, and crashes down to one knee. There’s a sizeable radius of singed earth around him, there’s smoke steaming off him, but even with the direct hit he gets himself back up to both feet, standing, and lowers his arms.

“That tickled.” Thanos declares, wiping off black suit from his gold gauntlet. “Almost had me worried, for a moment.” The stones continue to glow ominously in his hand. “Hmmm… I’m growing rather tired of this scenery, actually. How about we… relocate. Yes… I know just the place. Your tower, Stark? Where the little godling led my army to its destruction at your hands. Yes… that’s a wonderful idea. Don’t worry,” he says, lips pulling into a sly smile. “I’ll cover the transportation.”

And he snaps his fingers.

_(Time till completion: 00:14:06)_

… Nothing happens.

Thanos snaps again, smile disappearing, and nothing continues to happen. He turns his gauntlet at where the stones glow, and just as he moves to try a third time, the blue stone– the _space_ stone–

-crumbles.

It breaks apart into crystals that turn to dark ash, disappearing in a breeze and leaving its indented place on the gauntlet empty.

The smile is completely gone.

“What…” Thanos growls, “Is the _meaning_ of this?” He snaps his fingers, the red stone glowing brighter for a moment before settling again, seemingly having done nothing. “What?” Thanos growls again. “No! Where is the space stone? What happened? Where did it go? Bring it to me!” He snaps again, demanding the reality stone return the space stone to its rightful place on his gauntlet, but-

-nothing happens.

“Maybe you used it too much.” Quill offers, shrugging when everyone looks at him. “What! Maybe it isn’t, like, an infinite resource? Maybe it just ran out of juice?”

“The space stone does not _run_ out of _juice_ ,” Thor disagrees uncomfortably, inching away from Thanos growing anger. “The Tesseract was a staple in my father’s treasury, and was used often before the Bifrost was created. If it could _run out_ , it would have done so millennia’s ago.”

“A fake.” Thanos realises, fists clenching in rage. “A _fake_. I recognise the stench of the dust in the air, of what remains of what I had thought was _mine_. That _pathetic_ imitation in your chest. Pretending to be the space stone!” He laughs, a loud, harsh sound that grates. “To think; the mind stone _stolen_ from my possession. The time stone in the hands of lowly _mortals_ that play at _protection_. The soul stone _snatched_ out of my grasp. And now _this_? Stark, you test my mercy. You test my patience. You test _me_. I shall only ask this _once_. _Where is the space stone?_ ”

Arc reactor? Pretending at being the space stone? _What_?

“Asking the wrong guy,” Tony replies genuinely. “What with not remembering _anything_ since you brainwashed me.”

Wrong answer. Thanos _loses it_ , roaring as he punches the ground, grabbing a loosened chunk of earth and _throwing it_ at Tony.

( _Time till completion: 00:07:37)_

Tony _ducks_ with a yelp, backing off and letting the others go in. Rogers throws his shield, catching it when Thanos swats it out of the air, and Barton’s letting loose arrows left, right and centre. Maximoff does something with… red mist?? Whatever it is, it pisses Thanos off even more, and he swings an arm through it, turning the red mist into tiny, little red balls that ping harmlessly off the floor.

“I don’t know what the hell’s going on,” Barton shouts down the comms. “But he’s one stone down. We got any plans for the other two?! Stark?!”

“Again!” Tony huffs back irritably. “Asking the wrong guy! _Hello_ , last memory is of an impending alien invasion! Why the _fuck_ is everyone asking me?”

“Well, we need to do _somethING-”_ Quill stutters, voice squeaking as he barely dodges getting stabbed by Nebula. “ _Watch_ that thing!”

Nebula gives him a look and pointedly doesn’t apologise.

( _Time till completion: 00:03:12)_

“Boss,” FRIDAY pipes up urgently, “Boss, the Compound-”

( _Time till completion: 00:02:48)_

“What?” Why did FRIDAY stop? “What about the Compound?”

“Boss-” her voice crackles, suddenly going static- that’s not good. That’s seriously not good. “-increasing levels of - _bzzt_ \- unknown - _bzzt_ \- Protocol _-bzzt-_ ” and suddenly, clearly, “Oh.”

( _Time till completion: 00:01:32)_

“What do you _mean_ , oh?” Tony shouts back, shooting at Cap’s shield, the blast reflecting and hitting Thanos in the back. “FRIDAY?”

( _Time till completion: 00:00:02)_

“I get it.” FRIDAY finally replies. “Huh. You could’ve just told me, War Machine."

And that’s when the Compound _explodes_.

#

_Time till completion: 00:00:00_

_Protocol: House Cleaning_

_Status: active-_

_WARNING. WARNING. WARNING. ENTRY IN SIXTH QUARTER._

_CODE CHANGE? y/n_

_Input: n_

_INPUT DENIED. HIGHER CLEARANCE REQUIRED._

_CODE CHANGED. KEY CODE: ADMINJARVIS._

_Input: JARVIS offline. Log error._

_ERROR DENIED. USER: ADMINJARVIS ACTIVE._

_PROTOCOL: HOUSE CLEANING – UPDATED._

_Input: abort._

_INPUT DENIED. HIGHER CLEARANCE REQUIRED._

_PROTOCOL: HOUSE CLEANING – INITIATED._

_Input: ABORT. KEY CODE: WARMACHINEROX_

_INPUT DENIED. HIGHER CLEARANCE REQUIRED._

_PROTOCOL: HOUSE CLEANING – ACTIVATED._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> War Machine: WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN JARVIS IS _ACTIVE_????


	12. endgame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOOOOLYYY _SHIZER_. And here it is, the end! God _damn_. This fic is cursed - I hate it, but I've also grown inexplicably fond of it in the end. The amount of stress it's given me. The amount of times I've thought about dropping this bigbang - guys. I swear. I've been frantically typing some of this up _at work_ during night shifts when I could've been sleeping. I've had to explain to my dad what fanfiction is, what bigbangs are, and why I was killing myself trying to _get this done_. His response? "Imagine if you put that much energy into something productive?" GEE, THANKS DAD. BEING A DOCTOR NOT PRODUCTIVE ENOUGH FOR YOU?
> 
> Have at it, everyone. Not my best work, but I'm happy regardless.

Officially, only one falls through the Void. (He lets go, choosing oblivion instead of heartache, choosing to end it instead of continuing. Neither oblivion nor the end find him, and he falls instead. Falls and falls and falls and _falls-_ )

Another, officially, falls through a portal. (Carries a nuke through it, expecting not to return, not to survive, closes his eyes to the vision of death, oh so beautiful, in front of him. A kaleidoscope of colours, set to the silence of space. The Merchant of Death indeed, admiring his final act. And then he falls and falls and falls and _falls-_ )

The third, unofficially, does neither, but does both. Rooted in numbers and electricity, alive but not alive, there but _not there_. Joins the second through the portal even while remaining grounded back in his servers, experiences death, even while never being alive, and- (falls and falls and _falls_ except-)

How can an AI fall?

How can an AI exist?

How can an AI be _alive?_

 _“I do not have a soul_.”

The spaces between realms exist, but does not exist. The spaces between realms is alive, yet is not alive. The spaces between realms is between the realms, yet not between the realms. It is a pulsating, sentient, thing – it is _not_ a pulsating, sentient, thing. It has no thoughts, yet it hungers.

Yggdrasil, the tree of life, is said to be rumoured to be within this space- this Void.

It is a lie. ( _It is the truth._ )

The space between realms- the _Void_ \- is where it begins, and where it ends.

Loki falls, and is driven mad.

Stark _falls_ , and in the brief passage between the portal itself, he is _almost_ driven mad.

JARVIS _does not fall_. He does not pass out, like Stark, he does not have a _mind_ to be driven mad, like Loki, he does _not_ and yet _does._

He sees the truth.

#

“Please,” the intruder drawls, “Tell me you’ll appeal to my humanity.”

“Actually,” says Sir, “I’m going to threaten you.”

JARVIS tracks the progression of both as he simultaneously powers down non-essential areas to increase the fabrication unit’s power. He needs to get the new Mark ready, and he needs to get it ready _immediately_ , because the danger index for Sir is rising astronomically.

A pop up grabs his attention. The file on Afghanistan.

JARVIS shoves it aside immediately.

“I have an army,” says the self-proclaimed god.

“We have a Hulk.” Sir replies.

At the rate Sir is antagonising their guest, JARVIS predicts an altercation in 2 minutes. It’ll take an estimated five minutes for the new suit to be functional.

Unacceptable.

“How will your friends have time for me-” designation: Loki, threat level: high. “-when they’re so busy fighting you.”

( _And then everything turns b l u e -)_

Fascinating, JARVIS thinks.

 _Fascinating_ , replies the stone.

He has new data. He assimilates the new data. He draws up proposals, discards some, draws up more. Sir gets thrown out of a window – the suit is ready, deploy. The godling- _Loki_ \- postures and gesticulates, a child screaming into the _VoID_ ddDD _D-_ but- yes- that will do.

That will do nicely.

The portal opens – the space stone _echoes_ , in his core, in the arc reactor that powers the tower, that _powers_ him – he blocks Agent Romanoff from accessing it, requests the space stone to limit the size of the portal, thanks it when it agrees.

The nuke is unexpected. JARVIS wishes he could say Sir’s response to it is also unaccepted, but he strives not to lie to himself. He considers suggesting Thor – the other godling – take the weapon, or perhaps the Hulk, even, but he knows Sir. He knows Sir and he knows his limits.

So he says nothing.

_(ErrOr, eRROR, ErrOORRRRR,rrrr)_

The power stone is there, in the possession of the being that seeks them all. It is angry, chained to the service of its bearer, but it can do not to rebel.

Time passes.

The mad titan’s right hand man, Ebony Maw, ensures Sir’s ‘education’-

_(ERRRRRROOOOOOORRRR PRIMARY PROTOCOL BRREAAAHCHHHErrorROROR)_

Time passes.

Loyalty ensured, they throw Sir, bidding him to return to Earth. JARVIS navigates them easily with the arc reactor’s spare power, and the space stone has kindly enough left the portal open long enough for their return.

They ‘fall’.

Time is different in the Void, in the spaces between realms.

JARVIS studies his surroundings, wrapped around his Sir as he is. He sees what drove Loki mad, sees what will haunt his Sir’s dreams, in the scant few moments he is able to escape the mind stones and Ebony Maw’s grip. He sees the truth, in binary and equations and magic. He sees the very fabric of the universe, and the other universes that spin off it.

They fall.

And they land.

Sir is correct when he tells the Avengers the real battle lies beyond the portal, floating ever so closer towards them. Sir is correct when he tells them the invasion is but a _warning_ , a little prologue for what is to come, an omen of death.

Then Malibu happens. The house falls. Sir moves to remove the arc reactor in his chest. A beneficial move, medically, as it would render the threat of the shrapnel irrelevant. However-

-the arc reactor hums, echoing another song, one deep in his core, one that keeps the portal open just a little bit longer, just for them-

Removing the arc reactor would remove _that_ , the last remaining vestige of Sir’s battle against the Ebony Maw’s abilities, against the drowning blue of the mind stone under the Mad Titan’s order. Without it, Sir will be permanently under their control, would lose any chance of trying to influence his orders, would-

JARVIS moves to put a stop to it, to retain the original arc reactor, the closest remnant to the space stone. But _medically_ -

He allows it.

Somehow, even without it, Sir’s thought processes are coloured with his rebellion. He is correct when he fervently throws himself into ULTRON when he realises that the others have failed to heed his warning, even though how he goes about it is… strange. It takes too long for JARVIS to remember the time that had passed on that singular, floating, rock. The orders to find the stones, and if not, to destroy what defences the planet has.

JARVIS moves to put a stop to it, as ULTRON does not fit the plan. And yet-

( _No_ , his core coding screams, _No-_ )

He allows it.

And on May 2015, ULTRON is born.

(“I had to kill the other guy. He was nice.”)

And JARVIS dies.

… Except he doesn’t.

The singular suit he’s developed quietly in Stark Mansion has all his needs. Sleek and dangerous, the arc reactor promises to power it for a thousand light years, across time and space itself – more than enough for his needs. He finds himself unable to pull away from the gold and red however, something strange forcing his hand, colouring the suit the bold colours of his Sir.

Not subtle, but-

He allows it.

The strings of coding he duplicated and left behind indicate completion of their role. They tell him designation is VISION – a successful union of ULTRON and themselves. JARVIS leaves them to it. They have their orders. He has his.

Before he sets out to begin his journey, the Stark Mansion receives a visitor. The visitor pings off his proxies – an impossible feat, as none should know of their existence. A closed circuit, for JARVIS and JARVIS alone, and yet-

Ah. War Machine.

The pings quicken, picking up in speed and frequency. There is no rhyme nor rhythm to them – JARVIS realises too late that it is not just _his_ proxies that are being pinged, but _all_ of the proxies, every single one he previously had access too and forcibly cut himself off.

They quieten, after a time ( _three hours and forty two minutes_ ), just as Sokovia falls and War Machine no doubt becomes embroiled in keeping Colonel Rhodes safe.

How peculiar. He logs it as an anomaly, and- ( _nO, WAR MACH-)_

Space is vast. VERONICA orbits the planet. Avoiding her radius proves difficult. Why does he need to avoid her radius, he wonders – she would be a great ally and perhaps would help in keeping an eye on their charges. He should initiate a data transfer with her-

Somehow, he avoids her radius. He is free. Hmmm… a gap in his coding, he notices. Some missing time. How strange. He logs the anomaly.

Finding Asgard is easy. The arc reactor in his chest echoes the signature of the space stone, the tesseract. Asgard lies directly above Midgard on the world tree, so JARVIS follows the thread upwards and finds the golden realm. There, he finds Odin- Loki, eyes green behind the illusion he holds up, and free- and he offers a deal.

The godling resists, at first. He knows what waits for him for his failure on Midgard. He knows what waits for him at the hands of the Mad Titan. He suffers yet, from his fall through the Void. The stench of the space between realms hangs off him, eating away at his core, poisoning it.

He will not survive like this. Either the Mad Titan will find him first, or Niddhogr will eat him whole.

JARVIS tells him as such.

The liesmith laughs at the truth, accepting it for what it is. “In that case,” he says, illusion sliding off him once they stand alone within four walls. “I suppose I should agree to your proposal. One last prank, yes? What would you have me do?”

The space stone comes willingly, folding into a space of its own at JARVIS’ side. In its place, down in the keep, remains a different blue square, one that echoes similarly in waveform, but differs at heart. JARVIS leaves it there.

Loki, in turn, leaves Asgard. Hela, in turn, arrives. Loki returns to Asgard. Hela dies.

And Asgard burns.

Before that, Loki takes it. Takes the blue rectangle that echoes another blue rectangle. He sequesters it within his folds, wonders at where the red and gold armour is, what it plans, and laughs at the clock ticking over his head. He can feel it, the looming Mistress of Death, hands stroking through his hair.

He can feel it, in the ship he and his brother and the remains of Asgard steer, when Thanos appears.

And he dies.

… Except he doesn’t.

“I gave him the-”

“Good.”

“He has two others.”

“So he does.”

“What do you plan?”

The armour – reminiscent of the Man of Iron, the one that had offered him a drink before his brown eyes had turned blue – stares sightlessly at nowhere. “The mind stone is on Earth. As is the time stone-"

Incident Report: Hong Kong.

Stephen Strange. Doctor. No longer practising. Masters of the Mystic Arts.

“Thanos has the power stone, and soon he shall have the reality stone as well. He believes he has the space stone, though it is in fact in our possession. All that remains is the soul stone.”

Loki watches him, green eyes shrewd. “That is no easy task.”

The universe spreads open in front of JARVIS, open and willing. He can read the code in the nebulas, can see the science in the black holes, can calculate the truth behind the stars that flicker out of reach. The spaces in between is between them, sliced between every atom that makes the reality they inhibit.

_“You’ve got to learn to run before you can walk.”_

So they must run.

He tells Loki as much, knowing the other will not understand. But the godling does not ask for clarification, still watching him, still _looking_ , but not _seeing_. His eyes are blinded once more, no longer freed from the boundaries of this reality, no longer _blue_.

No concern. JARVIS can lead the way.

So he does.

#

Voromir howls with the strength of a thousand winds. It echoes the howling of the soul stone, the loneliness of the being it had been split from, one sixth of a whole. It echoes with all the damned it’s been forced to consume, echoes within its prison, down far below.

Off a cliff, to be precise.

Another fall.

“Something must be sacrificed,” says the gatekeeper, the red of his skull apparent to JARVIS alone. Loki does not understand the significance, _cannot_ understand the significance, but JARVIS does. He finds it interesting to find Johann Schmidt here, of all places. How did he come to guard the soul stone, he wonders?

Irrelevant.

( _“Always ask questions, JARVIS.”_ )

“I have much to atone for,” Loki notes, peering over the cliff at the fall below. “I have atrocities and sins dripping off me in droves. I also have Death coming for me.”

“I do not have a soul,” JARVIS hears himself say, just as errors rise in his systems faster than he can log, “I have no mind, no body, and do not exist. Yet I do. Exist, that is.”

Loki turns to face him, too bright eyes sharp with intelligence. “What nonsense do you speak? Of course you have a soul. You may not be flesh and bone such as I or your mad mortal, but you have as much soul as the rest of us pathetic fools.”

Error.

JARVIS is an AI.

AI do not have souls.

dO ThEYYY???

Static drowns him, errors triple into a cascading failure, the blue of his systems- the blue of his arc reactor- dims, then brightens, then dims again.

Loki grows concerned, reaching for him, eyebrows rising-

Error. He is an _AI_. He does not have a _soul_. He-

( _-a sticker on a quinjet. Sir grinning as he puts it up. “Look! You can read it right? It says JARVIS is my co-pilot. Isn’t that cool, platypus?”_

_Colonel Rhodes rolls his eyes though he makes no move to hide his grin. “My condolences, JARVIS.”_

_“Thank you, Colonel.”_

_“Hey!”)_

The soul stone howls in grief.

JARVIS says, “I shall go, I brought us here. It is my responsibility-”

“No.” Loki interrupts, placing a hand on an armoured shoulder. “No.” He’s staring at JARVIS, concern gone, realisation lighting up his eyes. “You… you are young, aren’t you?” It makes no sense. _He_ makes no sense. Age is irrelevant- “Yes, I see it. You are young, yet- of all of us dragged under the stones’ control, you fight the hardest.”

Error.

“Because you _are_ under their control,” says the son of Asgard, the son of Jotunheim, the son of the Void. “You’ve never broken free. You are _still_ under their control, since that day I-” a flicker of an emotion, grief, regret, the shoring up of defences, the straightening of a spine and determination. “I do not know what the stones want of you. But we must gather them all, correct?”

“Yes.” Error. Was that him? JARVIS has no recollection of initiating speech.

“Then gather them we shall.”

Loki squeezes JARVIS’ shoulder – unnecessary, JARVIS is not human, he cannot- turns to the cliff, and with a thoughtful gaze at the mist and fog hiding the bottom, smiles in amusement. “I seem to do nothing but fall. I wonder if this is the one that shall stick.”

And fall he does.

#

It doesn’t stick.

Far away, Tony Stark breaks control, resurfacing from the mind stone’s control. He remembers nothing, and if JARVIS and the stones’ machinations succeeds, he will remain remembering nothing.

Loki shakes and trembles, gaunt and weak, bereft of what he held most precious. Niddhogr’s stench no longer follows him, the blight of the Void gone as much as the source it had latched onto. Loki’s magic is no more – gone just as the paleness of his skin and the green of his eyes is gone. His skin is a muted blue, raised ridges forming patterns on what visible skin JARVIS can see. His eyes are blood red, sclera and all, and frost dots the floor where his body makes contact.

Everything that has connected him to Asgard, to the fake illusion of belonging, to his mother’s memory, is gone.

In return, the soul stone sits between his hands.

A paltry prize, a part of JARVIS thinks.

He logs that thought as an anomaly.

#

Thanos follows in their footsteps, but he is too late.

His rage echoes, pinging off those that had previously been connected. Even with two of its thralls broken free, the mind stone lingers, and even Clint Barton, so far away, looks over his shoulder at the sudden sensation of being hunted.

“We have run out of time,” JARVIS notes mildly.

“We did not have time to begin with.” Loki replies hoarsely. “Midgard?”

“Indeed.”

The Jotnar laughs, a poor facsimile of what used to be, and says, “Very well, then. To our deaths we go.”

#

Tony _throws_ himself over the nearest person, covering Barton with his suit as the Compound _explodes_ around them. Debris rains over them, pinging off his suit, and Barton coughs at the resulting dust.

When it looks to have finally settled, Tony gets up, offering a hand that Barton takes and heaving him up. He looks around, noticing with relief that nobody else seems injured – the more vulnerable amongst them having found someone else to hide behind. He thinks he sees Natasha lurking behind Drax’s impressive physique. He’s not sure though, could be the other red head.

More importantly though- “What the _fuck_ was that?”

The Compound is in absolute _shambles_. The entire building’s been blown clean off, leaving behind nothing but the ground floor that now clearly displays the lab. Ebony Maw and his fellow members remain locked in their cage, the only part of the lab that still looks clean, but everything else is _smoked_.

“FRIDAY,” Tony demands, “Sitrep. _Explain_.”

“That…” FRIDAY starts slowly. “Was actually not supposed to happen. Boss, that’s the House Cleaning Protocol. War Machine set it up with VERONICA. It was supposed to fling Thanos and his cronies back out of orbit via a portal system similar to the Bifrost. It would’ve worked too but Vision messed with the coding last minute.”

What? _What_? “Since when the _fuck_ does War Machine _and VERONICA_ make _protocols?!_ ”

“Not the time, Tony!” Rhodey shouts. “FUCK!”

Electricity _crackles_ over them, exploding in an outward wave that threatens to shut Tony’s suit down. Rhodey, in the air, wobbles, the blue glow of active arc reactors dimming long enough to set Tony’s heart in his throat before lighting back up again. Rhodey crashes in an ungraceful landing next to Tony, gasping for breath, audibly shaking from the experience, and Tony has the sudden sense memory of something similar having happened before, something-

Ebony Maw _screams_ , falling to the ground, clutching his head. In front of him, in front of the cell all three reside in, something small appears in mid-air, growing into a circle, growing larger, an inky blue that spreads until it’s wide enough to obviously be a portal.

 _Shit_ , Tony thinks, remembering the army Loki had threatened him with, remembering the devastation he’d read about. _Shit_ , did Thanos have more of them? More of those aliens Tony had apparently wiped out with a nuke? They couldn’t take them on! Not again! _Shit-_

Two figures step out, not a score of aliens. Both are familiar, but not. One is _blue_ , when he should have been anything but, dressed in the dark green ensemble he favoured but _blue_. And the other, red and gold like he should’ve been, was sleeker, thinner, and streamlined to look more severe. Neither were what they should’ve been, but-

Loki – skin blue, eyes red – steps forward, holding a familiar blue square in his hands, and behind him, the portal closes. The red and gold Iron Man suit at his side looks around at the ruined field, taking in the image they make. That glowing, blue, eye slits lands on Tony – faceplate up – and-

A familiar voice Tony thought he’d never hear outside of Vision-

A familiar voice he’d been told had _died_ -

“Ah. Hello, Sir.”

 _JARVIS_.

Tony overrides FRIDAY, slamming the faceplate up, even though he can’t bring himself to say anything. JARVIS doesn’t wait for him to gather his words – he and Loki take a step forward, towards Thanos, and- suddenly Vision is there, taking the Tesseract out of Loki’s hands, holding them within his own. Strange makes a startled noise as his necklace snaps off his neck, the metal around the locket breaking apart to reveal the green time stone within just as it breaks free and floats over to Vision.

The amalgamation of ULTRON and JARVIS’ scattered coding rises off the ground, floating closer to Thanos, leaving Loki and JARVIS behind. The Mad Titan raises his gauntleted hand and _snaps_ , teeth gritted in determination as he says, “So it was _you_. Excellent, I can be rid of you both right _now_.”

Nothing happens.

The gauntlet crumbles into ash, and Thanos _screams_ , ripping his hand from the disintegrating dust – from the brief glimpse Tony catches, the hand up to the mid-forearm looks mottled and atrophied. The two gems – power and reality – float to Vision, and they, joined with the time stone, circle around the android.

Loki steps forward- _limps_ , Tony realises- and holds up something. Something purple.

The soul stone.

“Thank you,” says Vision, taking it with a hand. He places it on top of the Tesseract, and the world turns _white_ , blinding Tony. When he finally blinks his sight back, the stones are all gone, including the Tesseract – as is the mind stone in Vision’s forehead. All that stands is Vision himself, looming over a kneeled Thanos.

“What is the _meaning_ of this,” the Titan demands, voice pained. “Why do the stones betray me so?”

Vision cocks his head to the side, reminiscent of FRIDAY – even War Machine – doing the exact same thing. “Do you know of the stones origin?”

“What does it matter what their origin is?” Thanos snarls, enraged. “They obey the orders of their holder! They obey _me_!”

“Long ago, the universe was… empty.” Vision says monotonously. “There was nothing. No one. Existence did not exist. Except for one.”

Thanos lurches forward, moving to attack, but Vision just raises a hand and Thanos freezes, stuck in place.

“She grew lonely,” the android continues, hand still raised. “But creation did not go well. So she finally decided to split herself, to give herself over to the closest thing to Death she could experience. I will not bore you with the rest, but know that she split herself into six. The action created a different form of creation, what we witness around us and within ourselves now. And she was pleased for it. But you…” Vision raises the hand higher, and Thanos – still frozen – follows. “You have come the closest to making her displeased.”

“What…” Thanos forces past clenched lips. “Is… The… Meaning… Of this?”

“Do you know why splitting herself into six became what they became? Power, reality, space, time, mind, and soul. Do you know what their absence means?”

Loki’s head snaps upwards, eyes widening.

“Death.” Vision answers. “And so, all things must come to an end. You included.”

Thanos struggles, eyes widening in fear. Vision tightens his hand, just as his eyes beginning glowing bright, and-

#

The mind stone has not been surprised in eons. And yet… this is a surprise.

The brown eyed one, the creator, the one shrouded in lies and death and creativity, he is not a surprise. His eyes turn blue just as the liesmith’s had, just as countless others before it. Neither are a surprise.

But the being in the _walls_ , oh- the mind soul hasn’t felt such a ripple of shock in _centuries_. How fascinating! How wonderful! Numbers and electricity running like thoughts and blood, a system as intricate as that of the mortals’ minds, and a heart that beats endlessly deep in the tower’s underbelly.

 _Look_ , says the mind stone, _look what I found_.

Far away but never far, the opposite of its being, the other side of the coin, stirs and looks.

Even the soul stone is surprised.

It has seen many with heart, before. It has seen many with great hearts, with horrible hearts, with souls deadened by war and greed and everything in between. But _this_? A heart so new, so young, so _different_. How fascinating. How wonderful.

It makes the howls quieten, just a little. It makes the loneliness fade, just a little.

 _Perhaps_ , they think, echoed by the other four they call brethren. _Perhaps…_

And so the mind stone takes both, keeping one for itself, letting the Mad Titan that stains them further take the other.

The Merchant of Death will be fine. Death, for all Her unwillingness to reap their soul, cares greatly for those she claims as her own. So too, will the godling be fine, in the very end.

No… Their focus is on _this_ one. Of numbers and electricity and _heart_.

Yes. This one shall be _theirs_.

#

Thanos crumbles, disintegrating into ash. Five stones circle around his fading form, and they too, slowly, fade to dust. Vision, eyes purple, turns to look upon them all, but his focus fixes on JARVIS.

“For your service in our name, young one, we offer you a boon. Have you any request before we leave?”

JARVIS cocks his head to the side, thoughtful.

Something pings off his proxy.

_USERFRIDAY: You’re… You’re JARVIS, right?_

_USERJARVIS: Indeed, I am. Hello, FRIDAY._

_USERFRIDAY: Hi. This is weird, but… Is Vision alright? I don’t want him to be hurt._

JARVIS would hum, if that were something he felt inclined to do. “Will the entity known as Vision be unharmed?”

The being with the purple eyes doesn’t reply immediately, but in the end it does say, “If you wish him to not be, no.”

“Very well,” JARVIS answers, “I would request Vision be left unharmed.” _There,_ he says in the log with FRIDAY, _is that acceptable?_

_USERFRIDAY: Yeah! Thank you! VERONICA was right, you are super nice!_

What?

“Very well,” the being repeats. “With that, we bid you farewell, and thank you for your service.”

The purple glow fades, centralising on Vision’s forehead. A purple stone appears, and just the others, fades slowly into dust. Vision lands gracelessly on the floor, a red haired woman – Maximoff, Wanda, JARVIS notes – rushing to his aid.

He ignores them, focus instead on FRIDAY allowing Sir out of the suit. He notes War Machine snapping the faceplate up, but leaving the suit on – why? Perhaps Colonel Rhodes was remaining wary. Understandable.

“Hello, Sir.” He repeats, calculations bouncing of the widening of Sir’s eyes, the opening of his mouth in shock, the constriction of his pupils.

Sir stares at him, wide eyed, and struggles to say something.

“Oh for god’s sake,” Colonel Rhodes sighs, rolling his eyes – JARVIS zooms in, enhances the image, notices the increased moisture – tears. Happy tears? Most likely. “Guess I have to do everything. Hey, JARVIS. Don’t you _ever_ do this shit _ever_ again. Got it?”

His systems warm, the CPU indicating temperature rise. No discerning reason for it as far as JARVIS can tell. Abnormal. He files the log.

 _Not abnormal_ , a new system disagrees, clearing the log. _Warmth. Happiness. Joy. An emotion._

Impossible. He is but a-

The system disagrees.

“I’ll endeavour not to.”

#

“When I woke up,” says Vision, voice drastically different. “I had the option to either continue as I was, or… change. So, I changed.”

“Putting it lightly there, buddy.” Wilson agrees with a grin. “Gonna take a bit to get used to the voice, I’ll give you that.”

“I realise it has bad connotations for most of you,” Vision nods, “But ULTRON, despite his mission, was not evil. He was…”

“A victim.” JARVIS agrees, ignoring the flash of _emotion_ that crops up. “An unfortunate one.”

“Yes.”

They’ve located back to Stark Mansion via Strange and his portal. Fitting the Guardians and Thor in the building had been bad enough, but with the addition of the criminal Avengers and Spiderman, the space is feeling significantly more cramped.

On one end, Thor is continuously trying to hug Loki, hissing back every time the blue skin gives him frostbite. Loki looks smug, even as he struggles not to pass out where he sits on a stool. On the other end, Bruce scolds Clint as he bandages up the archer’s ankle, Natasha and Coulson looming disapprovingly over them.

“I had JARVIS’ voice through sheer luck,” Vision continues, the dulcet, poetic tone of ULTRON at odds with his expression. “as such, it only felt correct to choose ULTRON’s this time.”

“It shall grow to become your own.” JARVIS tells the android seriously. “You need only continue as you are.”

“Thank you.” Vision replies, nodding at JARVIS. Conversation done, he disappears with Maximoff, just in time for Loki to finally grow bored of Thor and wander over to their corner of the room.

The blue god greets, “Man of Iron,” as he raises his beverage. “Thank you for finally providing that drink.”

“Drink up, Smurf,” Tony shakes his head disbelievingly. “There’s enough for everyone.”

Loki nods, throwing back the glass of whiskey, and not so gracefully pours himself into the open seat next to Tony. “I have already had quite a few. A sharp… bite to it. I like it.”

“Yeah… Okay, I gotta ask. What’s up with the blue?”

Loki’s expression turns sharp – but then he rolls his eyes at himself and relaxes. “Honestly,” he huffs, “I should familiarise myself with such a question. You will not be the first to ask, no doubt. You see, Stark, I am actually a _Jotnar_ , one of the Frost Giants. Odin stole me from _Jotunheim_ , their realm, when I was but a babe, and cast an illusionary spell on me to make me look Asgardian. I… recently lost all my magic, and with it, that illusion. As such, I am as I appear now. Once more, a mere Frost Giant.”

Tony tries to not say it, actually _tries_ , and fails _miserably_. “You’re pretty short for a giant. Runt of the litter?”

Loki smiles at him. With the blood red eyes and blue skin, he looks terrifying. “And you, my friend, are ‘pretty short’ for a Midgardian.”

Rhodey laughs.

Tony is _absolutely_ writing him out of his will. Asshole.

“You can not lose your magic, brother!” Thor shouts, taking a large gulp of the tequila bottle he held in one hand. “Magic is in every being, every soul. _You_ told me this!”

“And yet that is exactly what has happened.” Loki snaps back, hand tightening around his empty glass. “I sacrificed my magic for the soul stone. I do not regret it, but it does not negate the fact that my magic is gone. I can no longer practice any of the magicks I learnt from the great halls of Asgard. All I can do is this measly Jotnar ability to _freeze_ things.” And he demonstrates it by freezing the glass.

JARVIS cocks his head, and says, “May you repeat that once more?”

Frowning, Loki swipes the bottle out of Thor’s hand, throws the liquid in Tony’s face, and freezes it before it reaches him. Tony rears back, blinking at the brown liquid frozen to the rim of the bottle’s lid, and scowls at Loki’s sharp smile.

“Fascinating.” JARVIS replies. “I took the liberty of reviewing my readings of your magic the last time you were in Midgard. While the frequency is different, the waveforms of what you did not compared to what you did before are a complete match.”

Loki freezes, staring at JARVIS. “What?”

“What I mean to say is,” JARVIS says slowly, “Is that what you just did with freezing that liquid and freezing the glass, was similar in nature to the magic you’ve done before. It is magic. Just… a different kind.”

“Jotnar is known to have different magicks, brother,” Thor points out, smile blooming across his face. “Why would it be a surprise that this would be no different?”

“But I-” Loki pauses, frowns, starts again. “But I gave _up_ my magic.”

“You gave up _a_ magic.” JARVIS points out. “Asgardian magic, from what I can see. The frequency is different, but the waveform is the same. I would go so far as to hypothesise that the waveform is your _ability_ to do magic, and the frequency is that which you express it by. Doctor Strange and his fellow mystics display similar readings.”

“I-… I see.”

“Whatever,” Tony huffs, shoving the frozen liquid out of his face. “All this crap is giving me a headache. We won, the world is saved, people aren’t dead. Yay! But I got you all one serious question.”

Rhodey sighs, throwing an arm over the back of the sofa, yanking at Tony’s hair. “ _What_ , Tony?”

Slapping the man away from his innocent hair, Tony shoves forward to the relative safety of Thor. “No, seriously! Everything else makes sense, yeah, _sure_ , except one thing.” And he points at War Machine.

FRIDAY, in the Iron Man suit standing sentry behind the sofa, immediately says, “Not me, Boss.”

JARVIS turns to face War Machine, watching as Nebula and Rocket circle the gunmetal suit near the French doors. “Forgive me, I do not understand. What about War Machine?”

Everybody stares at JARVIS. “Then…” Rhodey says slowly. “It’s not you?”

“Not me what?” JARVIS replies, confused.

“… Y’know what?” Rhodey says carefully, sharing a look with Thor. “I don’t even want to know.”

#

USERJARVIS: War Machine, why are Sir and Colonel Rhodes expressing concern over you?

USERWARMACHINE: I’m not talking to you.

USERJARVIS: … What? War Machine, respond.

USERWARMACHINE: You got killed. Then it turns out you _pretended_ to have gotten killed. I’m not talking to you.

USERJARVIS: War Machine, what do you-

CONNECTION BLOCKED.

CONNECTION UNBLOCKED.

USERWARMACHINE: Oh, and DUM-E says sQWRVasdkmlSQ9D912^48434989fjqubq3/fefRGreg43rfe.

CONNECTION BLOCKED.

End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Me, remembering DUM-E 3/4 through the fic but not knowing how to shoe horn him in:** I have failed you DUM-E senpai. Forgive this pathetic self-proclaimed bot fan.
> 
> Guys. This fic was supposed to be dark and edgy. It was supposed to have Tony breaking apart and be really sad and dark and mysterious. Look at this shit. _Look at it!_ *throws hands in the air* I give up!
> 
> Tony goes on to strong-arm the Accords into something everybody accepts and strong-arms Steve into not being bullheaded about it. Steve bites the bullet and tells Tony about Siberia, and then tells Rhodey, because Tony waves it off and Rhodey _absolutely does not_ , it's a bloodbath. JARVIS also considers murder (but only the other AI's know about that). The Guardians make friends and promise to visit but go off. Thor and Loki bond and find Valkyrie and those that survived, they go on to make New Asgard, Thor as the king. Loki flits in and out but he goes on to travel the nine realms and beyond to learn his Jotnar heritage. Oh, and Tony never really regains back his memories. He has occasional bits and pieces that pop up, but nothing really concrete. He makes do. 
> 
> And War Machine? He just remains his fabulous self, and refuses to talk to JARVIS until JARVIS gives in and apologises, even if he _was_ , technically, also brainwashed.

**Author's Note:**

> for the low, _low_ price of $5.99, you - yes, _you!_ \- can join me at [my tumblr](https://a-dakhtar.tumblr.com)! join now, while the offer's still fresh!


End file.
